, 


BJURSTEl^ 


THE  LIBRARY 

iLKIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


oo 

OJ 

— 


THE 

PLAY  OF  FATE 


BY 

HERMAN  BJURSTEN 


TRANSLATED   FROM  THE   SWEDISH  BY 

W.   H.   MYERS, 

Translator  of  "Swedish  Folk  Lore,"  etc. 


CHICAGO 

DONOHUE,  HENNEBERRY  &  CO. 

1892 


COPYRIGHTED,  1892, 

BY 
DONOHUE,  HENNEBERRY  &  Co. 


DONOHUE  &  HENNEBERRY, 

PRINTERS  AND  BINDERS, 
CHICAGO, 


80NTENTS. 


PAGE. 

Prologue .- 7 

PART  I. 

CHAPTER    I.     The  Little  Wood-Gatherer 23 

II.  *  Mother  and  Son .38 

III.  Pastor  Bergholm 58 

IV.  The  Pupil  < 73 

V.     The  Porcelain  Cups 84 

VI.  Jacob  Kron 100 

"  VII.  Jacob  Kron,  continued 118 

"  VIII.  Odensvik ...134 

IX.     The  Amber  Heart 144 

PART  II. 

"  I.     Christmas  Evening 174 

II.    The  Blind  Woman  and  her  Son. . 220 

III.  A  Conspiracy 238 

IV.  A  Building  Project 246 

V.     The  Great  Hunting  Party 262 

VI.     An  Episode- 279 

"      VII.    The  Death  Bed 295 

PART  III. 

I.     A  Poor  Student 315 

II.     The  Friends 329 

III.  The  Bequest. .. 340 

IV.  The  Alternative 349 

V.     God's  Finger 361 

VI.  George 371 

"  VII.  The  Two  Teachers 382 

"  VIII.  The  Debutante 397 

IX.  A  Family 406 

X.  The  Play 421 

XI.  Father  and  Son 437 

"  XII.  Old  Acquaintances 452 

"  XIII.  AtMarielund  ..469 


2134339 


TO  X  TENTS. 

PAKT  IV. 

CHAPTER    I.  The  Meeting , ,..483 

"         II.  Reminiscences 496 

III.  The  Affinities 500 

"       IV.  Isabella 514 

V.  The  Visit 530 

"       VI.  The  Conservatory 548 

"     VII.  The  Wooing 563 

"    VIII.  Father,  Mother  and  Brother 571 

"       IX.  The  Meeting  in  the  Forest 581 

X.  The  Conference 592 

XI.  The  Arbor 606 

"      XII.  The  Explanation 612 

PART  V. 

I.  The  Two  Brothers. 621 

II.  The  Fatalists 634 

III.  The  Preparations. 642 

IV.  The  Birthday 650 

V.  Death's  Bride 657 

VI.  The  Baronial  Tomb 664 

"  VII.  Helena  Again 678 

"  VIII.  Rouge-Et-Xoir 689 

IX.  The  Alpine  Maiden 703 

X.  The  Last  Play  of  Fate 711 

XI.  The  Patricide's  Death  Struggle 724 

"  XII.  Conclusion..  ..730 


PART  I 


PROLOGUE 

From  Eastern  Switzerland,  jutting  into  Tyrol,  is  an 
arm  of  the  Alps,  which,  with  its  many  branches,  fills 
that  marvelous  mountain  land.  Just  upon  the  borders 
between  these  two  countries,  at  opposite  sides  of  the 
River  Inn,  that  here  speeds  its  way  north  and  east- 
ward toward  the  Danube  with  more  than  ordinary  ve- 
locity, is  formed,  by  this  Alpine  chain,  the  so-called 
Valley  of  Engadin,  without  doubt  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  tracts  in  this  quarter  of  the  globe.  On  its 
northern  side,  the  mountains  fall  in  bold  terraces  to 
the  river  banks.  Should  the  traveler  find  himself  on 
the  highest  of  the  surrounding  peaks,  and  thence  de- 
scend gradually  to  the  valley  below,  he  must  pass 
through  all  the  different  climates  of  Europe. 

From  the  bleak  and  hazy  regions  of  perpetual  snow, 
where  only  scanty  herbage,  mosses,  and  lichens  can 
exist  under  the  white  shroud  of  perpetual  winter,  one 
descends  terrace  after  terrace,  to  a  tract  whose  beg- 
garly vegetation  is  like  that  of  Northern  Scandinavia. 
Here  a  dwarf  birch  struggling  to'  protect  its  drooping 
branches  against  the  piercing  cold,  and  now  and  then 
a  stray  child  of  the  valley,  an  Alpine  rose,  with  pale 
cheek  and  a  snow-drop  sparkling  in  its  eye,  peeps 
forth. 

Nature's  life  seems  chilled.  Only  during  a  few  weeks 
in  midsummer  does  she  wake  from  her  death-like 
slumber,  when  the  petulant  mountain  streams  break 
loose  from  their  winter  prison,  and  rush  in  foaming 

7 


8  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

cascades  down  the  rocky  and  precipitous  ways  to  the 
pretty  valley  below. 

In  this  frozen  realm  above  the  clouds,  man,  how- 
ever brave,  has  not  yet  ventured  to  fix  his  frail  hab- 
itation. Only  the  mountain  goat  and  his  intrepid 
pursuer  have  sometimes  dared  to  approach  it,  and  at 
its  confines,  the  paths  of  both  hunter  and  hunted  end. 
The  feet  slip  and  sink  in  the  deep,  yielding  snow; 
respiration  grows  difficult  in  that  rarefied  air,  and  the 
limbs  are  stiffened  by  the  icy  winds  that  blow  from 
the  mountain  king's  glittering,  but  frosty  palace. 

Making  his  way  down  over  a  few  more  precipices, 
the  traveler  finds  himself  in  a  temperate  zone  corre- 
sponding with  the  climate  of  Middle  and  Southern 
Sweden.  Even  here  the  winters  are  severe;  but  the 
life-giving  rays  of  the  gentle  summer  sun  nurse  into 
abundance  thick  foliaged  oaks,  birches,  and  pines. 
Here  the  free  child  of  the  valley  drives  his  flocks  to 
crop  the  luxuriant  grass,  and  the  horn  of  the  herdsman 
mingles  its  silver  notes  with  the  roar  of  the  cataract. 

Irresistibly,  the  traveler  is  fascinated  with  the  spec- 
tacle of  the  unconventional  and  happy  people  grouped 
outside  their  "sinnihiitten"  on  a  holiday  evening. 
Who  has  net  heard  the  airs  from  the  Tyrolean  mount- 
ains, the  abiding  place  of  song  and  homely  customs? 
Who  has  not  been  enraptured  by  the  thrilling  ring  of 
the  Swiss  melodies?  Like  the  folk  songs  of  Northern 
Sweden,  they  are  a  faithful  reflection  of  the  character 
of  the  peasantry  upon  whose  lips  they  live.  To  its 
peculiarly  fresh  and  cheery  tone  there  is  sometimes 
added  a  tinge  of  deep  melancholy,  which  is  not  hard 
to  account  for  among  a  people  whose  life  is  an  inces- 
sant struggle  with  poverty.  Downward,  downward 
winds  the  traveler's  narrow  and  ofttimes  treacherous 


PROLOGUE  9 

path,  until  he  stands  upon  the  banks  of  the  Inn,  sur- 
rounded by  a  luxuriant  southern,  almost  tropical  veg- 
etation. Golden  fruits  weigh  stout  branches  down 
almost  to  breaking,  and  the  vine  creeps  in  and  out  of 
the  mountain  crevices,  bewitching  the  eye  with  its 
luxuriant  glowing  grapes.  Millions  of  silk-worms  are 
busy  in  the  rich  mulberry  trees,  spinning  their  silky 
threads,  invisible,  yet  so  strong  that  they  may  one  day 
imprison  the  swelling  bosom  of  maidenhood,  or,  in 
rich  draperies,  steal  around  some  slumbering  beauty's 
couch.  On  every  hand  are  glowing  apricots,  rosy- 
cheeked  peaches,  and  bright-hued  oranges,  hung  in 
leafy  bowers  whose  foliage  is  so  dense  that  the  rays  of 
the  sun  can  scarcely  penetrate  there.  Babbling  mount- 
ain streams  dance  over  the  rocks,  precipitated  in  sil- 
ver cascades  frojn  cliff  to  cliff,  finally  ceasing  their 
gambols,  and  hiding  themselves  in  the  mother  river's 
bosom. 

About  the  middle  of  the  valley,  the  Inn  makes  a 
sharp  turn  toward  the  north,  and  there  washes  the  base 
of  a  high  rock  which  raises  its  wood-crowned  head 
perpendicularly  above  the  water,  and  from  whose 
northern  side  a  mountain  stream  gushes  forth  and  tum- 
bles in  a  glittering  waterfall  to  the  river  below. 

From  the  summit  of  this  rock,  which  by  one  of  its 
sides  is  easily  reached,  a  most  beautiful  view  of  the 
surrounding  landscape  is  obtainable.  Deep  below  the 
feet  one  sees  a  blooming  paradise,  and  away  toward 
the  distant  southern  horizon,  blue  mountains  lift  their 
confused  masses,  crowned  with  forest  garlands.  To- 
ward the  east  and  west,  nature,  in  all  her  grandeur  of 
gigantic  rock  formations,  cliff  surmounting  cliff,  dizzy 
precipices  and  foaming  streams,  relieved  now  and  then 
by  a  narrow,  rocky  valley,  or  a  hill  covered  with  rich 
verdure,  meets  the  eye. 


10  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Notwithstanding  its  peculiar  grandeur,  and  the  mag- 
nificent picture  spread  before  the  observer  from  its 
summit,  this  rock  possesses  an  unpleasant  notoriety 
among  the  dwellers  of  the  valley.  No  one  willingly 
builds  his  cot  in  the  neighborhood,  nor  is  it  ap- 
proached after  nightfall  without  fear  and  trembling. 
Ghosts  hold  revel  here,  it  is  said,  and  by  the  light  of 
the  moon  on  a  summer  night,  they  may  be  seen 
emerging  from  the  abounding  caves  to  join  in  dance 
on  its  flattened  crest. 

When  Maurice,  Duke  of  Saxony,  during  his  war  with 
Charles  the  Fifth — 1552 — advanced  upon  Innspruck 
and  Trident,  some  of  his  soldiers  pushed  their  way  in- 
to the  Valley  of  Engadin  in  search  of  plunder.  The 
populace  fled  from  the  fury  of  the  invaders,  and  among 
them  a  young  Tyrolean  with  his  betrothed.  In  his 
flight,  he  reached  the  plateau  crowning  this  rock, 
where  some  Saxon  jagers  followed  him,  bent  upon  pos- 
sessing themselves  of  the  young  lover's  beautiful  prize. 
Here,  seeing  that  he  could  not  save  her  against  the 
superior  force  of  his  pursuers,  he  plunged  a  dagger 
into  her  breast,  and  hurled  himself  over  the  precipice 
into  the  foaming  waters  below,  leaving  only  a  bloody 
corpse  in  the  hands  of  the  would  be  ravishers.  The 
memory  of  that  affecting  deed  still  lives  in  the  breasts 
of  the  people,  and  has  given  the  rock  the  dismal  name 
that  rings  on  the  ear  and  chills  the  blood,  "Death's 
Cliff." 

It  was  evening,  June  16,  1817.  Upon  the  point  of 
Death's  Cliff,  leaning  against  an  oak,  sat  a  young  man 
gazing  absently  out  over  the  changing  landscape  that 
lay  before  him. 

Far  in  the  west,    beyond    the    snow-capped,  Alpine 


PROLOGUE  II 

peaks,  the  setting  sun  was  still  aglow,  and  spread  a 
stream  of  bright  red  over  their  icy  shields,  over  the 
fresh  verdure  of  spring  in  the  valley,  over  the  azure 
waters  of  the  river. 

Wafted  upon  the  gentle  evening  breezes,  the  tones 
of  a  neighboring  convent  bell  reached  the  young  man 
upon  the  rock,  and  the  herdsman  driving  his  flock 
homeward  woke  with  his  yodel  the  echoes  of  the 
mountain  defiles. 

"Tyrolean  sind  wir,  farallira; 
Im  freien  land!     Im  freien  land! 
Es  lebe  konig  und  vaterland, 
Farallira,  trarallira." 

But  the  sweet  notes  floated  unheard  past  the  young 
man's  ears,  and  the  clang  of  the  bells  awoke  in  his 
soul  no  voice  of  reverence. 

Resting  one  hand  upon  an  exquisitely  wrought  Tyr- 
olean gun,  while  with  the  other  he  caressed  a  hunting 
dog  of  rare  breed  and  beauty,  his  thoughts  seemed  to 
be  far  away  from  any  of  the  surrounding  objects.  A 
hunting-jacket  of  green  velvet,  buttoned  close  up  to 
the  throat,  covered  his  tall,  supple  figure,  and  around 
the  graceful  waist  crept  a  yellow  belt  of  elk-skin,  sup- 
porting two  shining  pistols  and  a  silver-handled  dag- 
ger. On  his  head  he  wore  a  Spanish  cap,  and  around 
his  neck  a  carelessly-knotted  silk  scarf.  . 

His  features  were  regular  and  handsome,  but  an  ex- 
pression of  scorn  played  around  his  mouth,  often  con- 
torting it,  and  imparting  a  repelling  expression  to  his 
otherwise  pleasing  face.  Out  of  the  depths  of  his  dark 
eyes  blazed  a  fire  of  passion,  and  a  physiognomist 
would  pronounce  his  thick  lips  an  indication  of  a  pre- 
ponderating sensuality,  an  insatiable  yearning  after 
life's  pleasures. 


12  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Meantime,  the  shadows  grew  longer  and  longer. 
The  blue  sky  assumed  a  deeper  hue,  and  the  stars 
were  beginning  to  sparkle  upon  its  dim  expanse. 
From  behind  the  eastern  mountains  the  new  moon 
lifted  her  silver  horn. 

The  quiet  was  unbroken  except  for  the  roar  of  the 
waterfall  in  its  tumble  over  precipices  on  its  way  to 
join  the  river  far  below.  The  young  man  lifted  a  hunt- 
ing-horn to  his  lips  and  blew.  Instantly  the  whole 
region  seemed  to  wake  from  its  reverie;  a  thousand 
echoes  chased  each  other  from  cliff  to  cliff,  from  crag 
to  crag,  and  the  roe,  frightened  from  his  retreat) 
bounded  forth  along  the  dizzy  heights. 

The  hunter  took  the  horn  from  his  mouth  and  list- 
ened to  the  reverberations  that  drowned  the  roar  of 
the  torrent,  a  strange  smile,  at  the  same  time,  play- 
ing across  his  lips. 

"How  mighty  is  man!"  he  exclaimed,  resuming  his 
former  position,  reclining  against  the  trunk  ofthe  oak. 
"Nature  sleeps;  the  fowls  rest  upon  the  swinging 
branches;  the  animals  slumber  in  their  lairs:  I  place 
a  piece  of  brass  to  my  lips  and  blow.  Nature  must 
answer,  from  valley  to  mountain-top,  from  forest  to 
chasm's  depths.  The  birds,  twittering,  hop  from 
branch  to  branch,  and  the  animals,  trembling,  leave 
their  haunts.  Surely  man  is  nature's  king!  But  is  he 
yet  his  own  master?  Does  he  possess  the  might,  un- 
restricted, to  determine  the  course  of  his  life  and 
effectually  control  his  fate?  Is  it  not  a  sleepless  power 
who,  with  iron  scepter,  governs  and  commands  him, 
now  to  the  rack,  now  to  a  bed  of  roses,  to  long,  to 
hope,  to  doubt?  Where  is  he  who  has  dared  to  say: 
'I  have  done  battle  with  my  fate  and  have  conquered?' 
Wonderful  creature,  man!  Who  has  solved  the  prob- 


PROLOGUE  13 

lem  of  your  being?  Who,  indeed,  can  explain  it?  Who 
has  determined  the  dim  destiny  that  sways  your  whole 
existence,  that  brood  over  your  beginning,  your  un- 
folding, to  the  end?  Poor  uncertain  power  that  exalts 
itself  over  the  outer,  the  dead,  the  mute  nature,  but  is 
humbled  to  the  dust  in  the  presence  of  an  eternal,  nat- 
ural law  that  holds  all  fettered  in  its  chains!  Misera- 
ble phantom  of  power,  shadow  of  a  king!  Over  the 
infirm  you  show  your  ascendency,  with  the  strong  you 
struggle  and— are  vanquished! 

"What  is  freedom?  An  iron  scepter,  an  official 
stamp  boastfully  impressed  upon  our  political  rights, 
a  battered  symbol  that  mankind  hangs  before  him  in 
order  to  deceive  himself  with  a  lie. 

"I  have  wandered  through  the  Swiss  cantons  from 
east  to  west.  It  is  freedom's  birthplace  and  home, 
it  is  said.  What  did  I  find?  A  nation  struggling  with 
poverty  in  their  rocky  valleys,  reaping  upon  the  frozen 
turf  a  harvest  often  insufficient  for  their  meager  wants; 
divided  by  political  differences,  by  religious  disputes, 
and  thereby  an  easy  prey  to  every  robber  who  may 
seek  to  take  advantage  of  their  weakness.  With  the 
individual,  the  same  passions  without  the  power  to  sat. 
isfy  them,  the  same  desire  after  happiness,  cheered  by 
no  hope  of  attaining  it,  the  same  blindness,  the  same 
thralldom  of  the  spirit  prevailing  in  all  other  lands 
that  I  have  visited.  Ah,  yes!  Mankind  are  all  alike, 
whether  ruled  by  king  or  a  popular  assembly;  whether 
they  inhabit  mountains  or  valleys,  the  sandy  deserts 
of  Africa,  or  the  snowy  expanse  of  the  Arctic  regions. 
Under  the  Esquimau's  furs  throbs  the  same  heart  as 
under  the  Frenchman's  finer  coat,  and  the  same  hood- 
wink hangs  over  the  eyes  of  both. 

"Upon  earth,  freedom  has  no  home.   It  is  a  Utopia. 


14  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Myself,  for  example;  have  I  not  been  made  to  dawdle 
through  an  existence  of  many  years  with  manacles  on 
my  feet?  I  would  be  free,  independent,  unrestrained. 
I  would  enjoy  myself,  for  I  am  a  man,  and  by  reason 
thereof  can  understand  the  art. 

"I  would  drink  to  intoxication  of  Calabria's  grapes; 
I  would  bask  in  the  light  that  glows  from  the  dark 
eyes  of  Hesperia's  maidens;  I  would  travel  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth,  to  see  all,  to  enjoy  all;  to  taste  of 
every  fruit  that  grows  in  life's  pleasure  garden.  Youth, 
strength,  desire,  swell  my  veins,  stretch  my  sinews  and 
course  like  fire  through  my  blood.  I  would  search 
after  bliss  upon  yon  southern  soil;  but  all  my  aspira- 
tions vanish  like  fleeting  shadows  among  the  snowy 
forests  of  my  distant  fatherland. 

"To  be  here,  at  the  gates  of  that  Italy  of  which  I 
have  dreamed  from  my  childhood,  compelled  to  turn 
back  again  to  my  cold,  misty,  native  land,  is  indeed 
hard.  And  why  must  I?  Because  an  obdurate  father 
so  wills  it.  Because,  though  rich  in  prospect  by  in- 
heritance, I  have  nothing  except  through  him,  and  am 
denied  the  power  te  govern  my  own  movements.  O, 
potent  gold!  It  is  indeed  you  that  lays  heaviest  hold 
upon  the  life  of  man!" 

The  young  man  here  paused  and  fell  into  a  deep 
reverie. 

"Yes,  so  it  is!"  he  finally  broke  forth.  "So  must 
it  be.  The  shadow  of  freedom  that  we  procure  can 
only  be  bought  with — gold.  Moreover,  even  that  dis- 
appears. There  are  other  means.  By  way  of  this 
precipice,"  continued  he,  after  a  short  pause.  "I  must 
secure  the  means.  But  how?  That  is  the  question. 

'"'Shall  I  wait  until  the  bright  days  of  youth  have  van- 
ished? Until  its  fire  has  burned  out,  its  strength  has 


PROLOGUE  15 

slain  itself  in  the  long  struggle  with  suffering  and  un- 
satisfied desires?  Shall  I  wait  until  the  power  to  en- 
joy has  faded  from  my  breast — until  I  am  too  feeble 
to  longer  seek  or  wish  for  happiness?  Live!  That  is  to 
enjoy!  Life  without  enjoyment  is  pretense  only.  No, 
I  will  not  wait!  I  must  be  free,  or  die.  But  my 
father  is  a  man  in  his  best  years.  He  may  live  to  old 
age,  he  may  outlive  me  even.  Death  and  the  Devil!" 

At  this  instant,  the  young  man  felt  a  heavy  hand 
fall  upon  his  shoulder.  With  a  start  he  turned  around. 

Before  him  stood  a  man,  perhaps  forty-five  years  of 
age,  of  noble  and  commanding  bearing,  the  fire  of 
whose  eyes  was  subdued  by  a  calm  earnestness  which 
was  enthroned  upon  a  high,  open  forehead,  where 
neither  time  nor  care  had  yet  plowed  a  furrow. 

The  elder,  as  the  younger  man,  was  clad  in  a  green 
hunting-jacket,  and,  like  him  also,  was  armed  with 
pistols  and  rifle. 

The  latter  had  sprung  hastily  to  his  feet  and  stood 
silent  and  embarrassed  under  the  calm,  searching  gaze 
that  was  fixed  upon  him. 

"Ah,  my  dear  Eberhard,"  said  the  elder,  finally, 
"I  fear  you  are  in  a  bad  humor  to-day,  or  why  these 
muttered  curses  I  have  just  heard?" 

"I  was  displeased  that  my  hunt  has  been  so  fruit- 
less," answered  Eberhard,  with  manifest  perplexity. 
"Has  it  gone  better  with  you,  father?" 

"Excellently!  I  have  shot  two  roebucks  since  we 
separated.  Accompany  me  to  the  inn  and  sup  with 
me  on  a  roebuck-steak." 

"Thank  you,  father.  But  tell  me  first,  is  it  your 
unalterable  determination  to  return  to  Sweden  without 
visiting  Italy,  whither  you  know  it  has  been  my  great- 
est desire  to  go?" 


1 6  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"We  must  save  this  journey  for  another  time,  my 
son.  Even  now  I  have  been  too  long  absent  from  my 
home,  and  my  steward  writes  me,  moreover,  that  the 
affairs  of  the  estate  demand  my  immediate  presence  and 
personal  attention.  It  ought  to  interest  you,  too,  that 
the  estate  to  which  you  will  one  day  be  heir  is  not 
neglected,  and  allowed  to  go  to  waste." 

"Ah,  father,  you  already  own  so  much  that  you  can 
never  spend  your  income,  however  you  may  manage. 
Life  is  so  short,  why  renounce  the  actual  pleasure  for 
the  mere  gratification  of  accumulating  more  gold  than 
one  needs?" 

"That  you  do  not  understand,  Eberhard.  You  have 
always  had  a  great  inclination  to  be  a  spendthrift,  and 
I  am  in  actual  fear  that  my  present  considerable  prop- 
erty, once  in  your  hands,  will  be  soon  dissipated.  But 
while  I  live,  it  is  I  who  will  guard  it,  you  understand." 

"I  have  never  meddled  with  your  affairs,  father,"  re- 
plied Eberhard  with  a  dark  frown;  "but  is  it  too  much 
that  the  son  of  Count  Stjernekrantz,  of  whose  wealth 
all  Sweden  talks,  should  not  be  permitted  to  visit 
Italy,  that  land  to  which  all  young  men,  not  half  so 
wealthy,  have  made  pilgrimages?  I  am  twenty-four 
years  old,  father,  and  you  have  never  yet  allowed  me 
the  least  freedom.  Why  hold  me  in  this  slavery  that 
quenches  my  very  being?  If  you  must  return  home 
to  look  after  your  estates,  give  me,  at  least,  liberty  to 
enjoy  myself.  Grant  me  a  moderate  sum  of  money, 
and  let  me  go  alone  to  Italy." 

The  young  man  uttered  this  in  a  loud,  almost  inso- 
lent tone. 

The  count  fixed  his  calm,  earnest  glance  upon  his 
son,  who  had  not  the  power  to  withstand  it,  but 
dropped  his  eyes  to  the  ground, 


PROLOGUE  17 

"Pleasure,  nothing  but  pleasure!"  exclaimed  the 
count.  "You  incline  to  nothing  else,  Eberhard.  You 
would  enjoy  life,  it  is  so  short,  you  say.  Fool!  Do 
you  believe  that  the  Almighty,  in  His  wisdom,  meas_ 
ured  out  man's  fleeting  hours  in  order  that  Epicurus^ 
in  his  conceit,  might  cry:  'Grasp  the  minutes.  Upon 
their  wings  happiness  reposes?'  Do  you  think  that 
the  pleasure  which  fuddles  the  brain  and  leaves  only 
weakness  and  disgust,  when  it,  like  the  foam  in,  the 
champagne  glass,  has  disappeared,  do  you  think  that 
this  can  be  even  a  shadow  of  the  enjoyment  that  man- 
kind may  and  ought  to  seek?  O,  no,  my  son,  that 
pleasure  cannot  come  from  without;  cannot  be  founded 
upon  material  things.  The  pure  mind  does  not  require 
the  land  of  Hesperia,  neither  Hellas'  myrtle  .valleys, 
to  produce  it.  It  does  not  dwell  in  the  purple  juice 
of  the  grape,  nor  in  the  maiden's  lily  bosom,  and  you 
may  seek  it  in  vain  among  life's  marts.  Everything 
else  you  may  buy  there,  but  not  happiness." 

"There  is  no  pleasure  without  freedom,  father,  "re- 
plied Eberhard  sullenly.  "You,  for  example,  would 
you  deem  yourself  fortunate  if  you,  like  a  shadow,  were 
made  to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  another,  denied  the 
right  to  determine  your  own  actions?  .Would  you  not 
grow  weary  on  the  way  and  die  consumed  by  lo.nging 
if  you  were  forbidden  what  you  most  desired,  com- 
manded to  do  what  you  most  abhorred?" 

"I  should  shake  off  such  a  yoke,  for  I  know  that  I 
am  ripe  for  the  freedom  of  which  you  speak,  and 
everyone  who  is  ripe  for  freedom  possesses  it  also;  for 
his  wishes,  his  desires,  and  his  actions  do  not  come 
into  conflict  with  the  behests  either  of  the  community 
or  of  morality. " 

"It  is  of  the  so-called  moral  liberty  you  speak?"    . 


l8  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"The  moral  liberty,  yes,"  interrupted  the  count 
"Just  so — for  there  is  no  other  actual  liberty.  What 
you  call  liberty  is  in  reality  only  the  right,  from  a 
sensual  point  of  view,  to  determine  for  one's  self  his 
course  of  action.  In  other  words,  the  right  to  be  a 
slave  to  sensuality  and  the  baser  of  human  passions. 
Only  he  who, in  the  struggle  against  these,  has  achieved 
the  power  to  govern  them,  is  actually  free,  and  at  the 
same  time,  really  happy.  Only  such  also  are  ripe  for 
freedom  in  the  signification  that  you  assume.  You, 
my  son,  do  not  yet  possess  the  former  liberty,  there- 
fore I  will  not  accord  you  the  latter." 

"You  must  forgive  me,  father,"  answered  Eberhard 
scornfully,  "if  I  cannot  reconcile  myself  with  that 
rigorous  code  of  morals  of  which  you  preach.  There 
are  different  ways  of  seeking  happiness,  as  individuals 
differ  in  cast  of  mind,  inclination  and  habit,  and  to 
determine  objectively  what  pleasure  is,  seems,  there- 
fore, to  be  impossible.  The  poet  seeks  it  in  his  fan- 
tasias, the  miser  in  his  gold,  the  drunkard  in  the  glass, 
the  scientist  in  his  investigations,  the  religionist  in 
his  meditations,  the  chieftain  in  the  favor  of  his  royal 
master.  Who  is  brave  enough  to  stand  fortli  and  de- 
clare the  one  or  the  other  is  mistaken  in  his  choice? 
That  the  miser,  for  example,  when  he  counts  his  gold 
heaps,  is  less  happy  than  the  scholar  delving  after  the 
hidden  treasure  of  nature.  They  arrive  at  exactly  the 
same  end;  the  one  with  his  gold,  the  other  with  his 
wisdom.  The  one  plays  with  pieces  of  metal  or  bits 
of  colored  paper,  the  other  with  the  stars  of  the  firma- 
ment, or  the  flowers  and  stones  of  the  earth.  Like 
children,  they  have  different  playthings — are  pleased 
with  different  objects,  nothing  further.  Well,  what 
harm  has  the  miser  done  that  has  followed  his  bent 


PROLOGUE  ig 

more  than  the  wise  man  who  has  followed  his?  Can 
he  help  it  that  the  lump  in  his  breast,  which  he  is 
pleased  to  call  a  heart,  is  inspired  with  a  love  for  gold? 
Quite  as  little  as  the  other  can  quench  his  love  for 
science.  All  mankind  are  vassals,  and  the  law  of  nature 
that  sways  us  most,  we  obey.  It  is  fate  that  plays 
with  us,  and  allots  to  each  his  toy.  Let  me  retain 
mine,  father,  and  no  one  will  covet  yours." 

With  rising  anger,  the  count  listened  to  these  bold 
paradoxes  to  which  the  dispirited  young  man  gave 
vent.  The  principles  of  the  fatalist,  in  their  most 
pronounced  form,  uttered  with  that  tone  of  assurance 
and  conviction,  could  not  other  than  make  an  impres- 
sion more  or  less  repugnant  to  the  count's  noble  and 
exalted  sensibilities. 

"Eberhard,"  said  he  finally,  in  a  serious  tone,  his 
glance  resting  upon  the  young  man,  who  now,  with 
folded  arms,  stood  leaning  against  the  tree  at  whose 
base  he  had  before  been  sitting,  "Eberhard,  the  princi- 
ples which  you  pretend  to  advocate  are  nothing  else 
than  a  wretched  shield  behind  which  vice  and  crime 
are  trying  to  defend  themselves. 

"There  is  no  inexorable  natural  law  that  blindly 
conducts  us,  like  children  with  eyes  bandaged,  in  its 
leading  string.  There  is  an  indulgent  Providence 
which  has  certainly  put  into  our  hearts  diverse  incli- 
nations, but  it  gave  us  also  a  conscience  elastic  and 
strong  enough  to  subdue  the  evil  and  choose  the  good. 
Do  not  think,  my  boy,"  continued  the  count,  pointing 
to  the  setting  sun,  "that  yon  orb,  which  day  after  day 
diffuses  its  life-giving  beams  over  the  earth,  shines 
alone  for  a  class  from  whom  the  inner,  the  spiritual 
light  is  absent.  No,  just  as  it,  with  its  glowing  rays, 
out  of  nothing  brings  continual  newness,  continuous 


20  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

growing  forms,  so  stands  even  liberty's  sun  in  the 
heaven  of  the  soul,  and  nurses  the  flower  in  its  spring, 
ripens  the  fruit  in  its  autumn.  But  the  seeds  of  evil 
sprout  and  grow  in  the  darkness,  their  fruits  shun  the 
light,  and  ripen  after  sunset. " 

During  these  utterances,  the  count  had  approached 
the  edge  of  the  precipice  in  order  to  get  a  better  view 
of  the  magnificent  picture  which  the  changing  Swiss 
landscape  presented.  Just  as  he  had  concluded  these 
words,  the  last  ray  of  the  sun  disappeared  behind  the 
western  mountains.  At  that  instant  a  horrible  resolve 
sprang  up  in  Eberhard's  breast. 

"The  River  Inn  is  deep,"  thought  he.  "That  which 
is  concealed  in  its  bosom  never  emerges.  A  push 
with  this  arm — and  I  am  free."  And,  as  with  a  thou- 
sand voices,  the  spirits  of  the  precipice  whispered  with, 
in  him:  "You  are  free  " 

The  young  man's  temples  throbbed,  his  limbs  trem- 
bled, and  a  cold  perspiration  broke  out  upon  his  fore- 
head. With  stealthy  step  he  neared  the  count,  who 
was  now  wholly  absorbed  in  the  beautiful  landscape 
surrounding  him. 

"See,  Eberhard,"  said  he,  "see  what  a  beautiful, 
what  a  magnificent  picture!  Can  you,  at  such  a  sight, 
doubt  that  there  is  a  benign  Power,  a  Power  full  of 
love — " 

His  utterances  were  here  cut  short  by  a  push  from 
the  arm  of  his  son,  which  hurled  him  headlong  over 
the  cliff. 

With  labored  breathing  and  blood  shot  eyes,  the 
patricide  leaned  over  and  listened,  and  out  of  the 
depths  he  seemed  to  hear  his  father's  voice  uttering  a 
curse,  then  all  was  quiet. 

He  arose  and  laid  his   hand  upon  his    forehead.     It 


PROLOGUE  21 

was  damp  and  cold.  Softly  he  withdrew  from  the  edge 
of  the  cliff  that  had  witnessed  the  consummation  of  his 
dreadful  thoughts. 

"It  is  not  I,"  cried  he,   "it  is  fate!" 

From  the  surrounding  cliffs,  the  echo  answered,  "It 
is  fate!  "  And  with  slow  pace,  Eberhard  withdrew  from 
the  scene  of  his  awful  deed. 

Some  weeks  later,  one  might  have  read  in  the  Swed- 
ish papers: 

"By  foreign  post,  we  have  received  advices  that  a 
shocking  accident  has  befallen  one  of  the  most  promi- 
nent of  our  countrymen.  Chief  Marshal  Count  Stjerne- 
krantz,  one  of  our  wealthiest  magnates,  and  by  all  who 
are  honored  with  his  acquaintance,  recognized  also 
as  one  of  nature's  noblemen,  and  a  distinguished 
scholar,  while  journeying  through  Southern  Europe, 
has  lost  his  life  by  a  dreadful  accident.  The  count, 
one  beautiful  June  evening,  with  his  son,  who  accom- 
panied him  in  his  travels,  had  climbed  to  the  top  of  a 
steep  mountain,  whose  frowning  cliffs  rise  perpendicu- 
larly over  the  rushing  water  of  the  Tyrolean  River  Inn. 
Lost  in  contemplating  the  beautiful  picture  spread 
before  hirn,  he  unconsciously  approached  the  edge  of 
a  frightful  precipice.  Stepping  upon  some  loose 
stones,  his  feet  slipped,  and  with  a  half  stifled  cry  of 
terror,  the  unfortunate  gentleman  was  precipitated  in- 
to the  turbulent  stream  far  below.  The  young  count, 
who  was  at  the  time  on  the  other  side  of  the  rock, 
rushed  forward,  and  we  may  imagine  his  horror  and 
despair  when  no  trace  of  his  father  was  discernible. 
It  required  of  the  young  man  an  almost  superhuman 
effort  to  restrain  him  from  throwing  himself  also  into 
the  waves  that  had,  beyond  a  doubt,  become  the 
grave  of  his  beloved  parent.  To  further  augment  the 
<* 


22  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

bitter  grief  of  the  young  man,  the  body  of  the  drowned 
gentleman  was  not  recovered,  notwithstanding  a  most 
diligent  search,  extending  over  many  days,  was  pros- 
ecuted. This  is  easily  explained  when  one  is  made 
aware  that  the  current  of  the  river  at  this  point  is 
uncommonly  strong,  and  that  a  whirlpool  here  is  of 
sufficient  strength  to  draw  to  the  bottom  and  retain 
there  whatever  may  come  within  its  dominion. 

"Count  Stjernekrantz  owned,  in  addition  to  many 
other  possessions,  the  beautiful  estate  of  Odensvik, 
situated  in  the  southern  part  of  Wermland,  near  the 
shores  of  Lake  Wener.  To  this  rich  domain,  the 
aforenamed  son,  Count  Eberhard  Stjernekrantz,  is  the 
only  heir. 

"The  latter  has,  in  order  to  dispel  his  grief  over  his 
fearful  loss,  journeyed  into  Italy." 


THE  PLAY  OF  FATE 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   LITTLE   WOOD  GATHERER 

It  was  one  evening  in  the  month  of  October,  in  the 
second  year  after  the  terrible  incident  just  described. 
Darkness  was  approaching.  A  cold  mist  enveloped 
the  earth  with  a  gray  sheet,  and  from  the  cloud  covered 
heavens  descended  gently  a  fine  rain.  It  was  one  of 
those  chilly,  unpleasant  days  that,  characteristic  of 
Sweden's  autumns,  make  the  temper  disagreeable  and 
chill  like  the  air  itself. 

On  the  north  shore  of  Lake  Wener,  a  few  miles  west 
of  Carlstad,  lies  a  thick,  dark,  pine  forest  belonging 
to  a  large  estate,  whose  buildings  are  erected  on  a 
point  jutting  out  into  the  lake.  Through  this  forest 
is  a  high  road,  now  widening  its  course,  by  many  bends 
and  curves,  up  the  steep  hills,  now  running  level  and 
straight  among  the  tall-stemmed  pines.  At  a  certain 
point,  by  the  side  of  the  road,  is  raised  a  large  pile  D£ 
stones  and  brushwood  which  the  passing  peasants  have 
heaped  up  by  degrees  to  mark  the  spot  where,  some 
time  ago,  a  murder  was  committed — a  custom  quite 
common  in  many  quarters  of  Sweden,  and  especially 
in  the  middle  country. 

The  hour  was  about  five  of  the  afore -mentioned  even- 
ing, when  a  slight,  very  plainly  clad  boy,  quite  alone, 

23 


24  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

might  have  been  seen  plodding  along  the  highway, 
and  arriving  at  the  monument,  he  paused  before  it. 

The  poor  boy  was  apparently  about  ten  years  of  age, 
very  thin  and  pale.  Covering  his  spare  figure,  he  wore 
an  old,  tattered,  woolen  jacket,  which  some  day  might 
have  been  green,  but  was  now  much  faded  by  time. 
The  texture  and  cut  of  the  garment  indicated,  nev- 
ertheless, that  its  wearer  had  seen  better  days,  while 
his  clear  face  and  intelligent  expression  bore,  unmis- 
takably, the  signs  of  good  breeding  and  careful  train- 
ing. 

The  features  of  the  boyish  face  were  dark,  but  regular 
and  uncommonly  handsome  A  head  of  luxuriant  coal- 
black  hair  fell  in  long,  natural  curls  around  a  well- 
built,  though  somewhat  sun-browned  neck,  and  out  of 
the  lively  brown  eyes  flashed  a  fire  which  expressed, 
at  the  same  time,  innocence  and  intelligence. 

The  poor  lad  was  trembling  with  cold,  for  his  thin 
jacket  and  scanty  pantaloons  were  insufficient  to  pro- 
tect him  against  the  chill  autumn  air,  and  the  fine, 
incessant  rain-drops  that  penetrated  them. 

"Ugh!  but  it  is  dark  in  these  woods, "  muttered  he 
to  himself,  "and  I  am  so  cold  and  wet.  But  that  is 
nothing, "-continued  he  bravely;  "my  mother  is  ill  and 
will  perish  with  cold  if  I  do  not  gather  some  sticks; 
therefore,  lively  about  it." 

At  the  conclusion  of  these  words,  the  boy  scrambled 
up  the  side  of  the  stone  pile  and  hastened  to  collect 
a  portion  of  the  dry  twigs  and  branches  that  had  been 
thrown  there.  Meantime,  the  gloom  deepened,  the 
shadows  of  the  tall,  dusky  pine  trunks  grew  longer  and 
longer,  darker  and  darker,  and  thicker  and  thicker  the 
fog  that  slowly  rose  from  the  damp  earth. 

The  boy  began  once  more  to  be  afraid. 


THE   LITTLE  WOOD -GATHERER  25 

His  thoughts  quickly  turned  to  the  tragedy  that  had 
been  enacted  upon  the  spot,  a  terrible  thing  of  \vhich 
he  had  often  heard  the  people  of  the  neighborhood 
speak.  The  blood  froze  in  his  veins  when  the  fact 
suddenly  rushed  in  upon  him  that  he  was  on  the  very 
place  where  that  horrible  crime  was  committed,  and 
employed  in  taking  away  a  portion  of  the  awful  guard 
which  had  been  built  during  the  many  years  since  its 
occurrence,  as  a  frightful  warning  to  the  future. 

ft  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  almost  committing  a 
sin,  a  sacrilege,  in  taking  away  these  sticks  He  has- 
tily cast  back  those  he  had  already  gathered,  as  near 
as  possible  to  their  former  resting  places,  and  dashed 
with  the  utmost  speed  down  from  the  stone  pile. 
"No,"  said  he  in  an  undertone,  "I  dare  not  take  any- 
thing from  that  fearful  place.  The  murdered  man 
might  come  and  demand  the  return  of  his  property. 
I  must,  therefore,  go  into  the  forest  and  search  after 
wood.  But  it  is  so  dark  in  there — so  dark!  I  will  at 
least  get  out  of  the  neighborhood  of  this  place  that 
fills  me  with  such  horror." 

The  boy  began  to  run  at  his  best  along  the  road,  as 
if  followed  b)'  the  ghost  of  the  murdered  man.  At 
some  distance  from  the  object  of  his  consternation 
he  halted,  and  placed  his  hand  over  his  violently 
beating  little  heart. 

"So,"'  said  he  with  firmness,  "now  I'Jl  go  into  the 
woods  and  gather  my  sticks.  How  stupid  of  me  to  be 
afraid,  for  God  and  the  gentle  Saviour  protect  little 
children,  if  they  are  good  and  humble.  Mamma  has 
told  me  so,  and  she  knows  what  she  is  talking  about." 

With  this  consoling  thought  the  little  boy  began, 
in  a  weak  but  uncommonly  clear  and  sweet  voice,  to 
sing  a  verse  from  the  Psalms. 


26  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Turning  from  the  road  and  continuing  his  song,  he 
made  his  way  some  distance  into  the  dark  forest, 
where,  to  his  great  joy,  he  found  an  abundance  of  dry 
branches  and  sticks  which  had  been  scattered  about 
by  the  storms  In  a  few  minutes  he  had  gathered  as 
much  of  a  load  as  his  young  shoulders  could  support, 
and  placing  them  in  a  pile,  he  bound  them  with  a 
piece  of  rope  which  he  had  brought  with  him,  and 
with  difficulty  lifted  and  slung  them  upon  his  back. 

"So,"  said  he  cheerily,  "now  for  home,  and  mamma 
shall  warm  herself  while  I  make  some  hot  soup  for 
her.  Won't  that  be  good?" 

Joyfully  he  hastened  back  to  the  roadway  and  bent 
his  steps  in  the  direction  from  which  he  had  come. 

Meantime,  it  had  become  quite  dark  and  the  rain 
was  still  falling. 

The  little  wood-gatherer,  who,  until  now,  had  been 
sustained  by  the  thought  of  his  sick  mother,  whom  he 
expected  to  cheer  with  his  success  and  the  warm  broth, 
began  to  discover  that  he  had  reckoned  beyond  his 
strength.  His  burden  was  altogether  too  heavy  for 
his  delicate  shoulders.  His  gait  became  unsteady, 
and  he  was  many  times  tempted  to  drop  the  whole 
and  hasten  home.  But  again,  the  image  of  that  hun- 
gry and  freezing  mother  was  before  his  eyes,  and  al- 
though growing  faint  under  his  exertions  and  the 
cold,  he  dragged  himself  along  yet  a  little  way,  en- 
couraged and  comforted. 

Thus  he  had  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  forest  and 
found  himself  surrounded  with  wooded  pastures  and 
fields,  the  latter,  for  the  most  part,  already  harvested. 

Exhausted,  and  chilled  through,  he  halted  beside  a 
stone,  upon  which  he  seated  himself,  and,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes,  dropped  his  burden  at  his  feet.  From  his 


THE  LITTLE  WOOD-GATHERER  27 

resting  place  he  had  a  full  view  of  the  Wener,  and 
the  outlines  of  a  large  gray  stone  house  situated  on  a 
peninsula,  rose  before  him  in  the  dim  distance. 

"Why,"  muttered  the  boy  to  himself,  "why  should 
I  be  compelled  to  trudge  through  this  forest  and  drag 
this  heavy  bundle  of  sticks,  wet  to  the  skin,  cold  and 
hungry,  while  they  who  dwell  in  yon  splendid  stone 
house  may  sit  before  a  fire  in  its  grand  halls  warming 
themselves,  eating  nuts  and  baked  apples.  Ah!  baked 
apples!  how  long  it  is  since  I  have  tasted  any,  and  I 
may  never  taste  them  again." 

The  child  began  to  cry  bitterly.  There  was  yet  a 
considerable  distance  to  travel  be,ore  he  could  reach 
his  mother's  hut. 

Having  rested  somewhat,  he  arose,  intending  to 
continue  his  way,  and  had  already,  though  with  great 
difficulty,  succeeded  in  shouldering  his  load,  holding 
it  fast  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he  wiped 
away  the  tears  that  were  streaming  copiously  down 
his  cheeks,  when  sounds  of  an  approaching  carriage 
reached  his  ears.  He  paused  and  listened  attentively. 

"Oh,  if  that  were  some  kind  hearted  peasant  with 
whom  I  might  ride  a  short  distance,"  thought  he. 
"God  grant  it  may  be!" 

But  no.  The  vehicle  that  rolled  into  view  was  a 
magnificent  carriage  drawn  by  three  showy  horses 
driven  by  a  coachman  in  liver)'.  It  was  one  of  those 
large,  and  — specially  for  this  season  of  the  year — com- 
fortable traveling  conveyances  which  are  provided 
with  high  doors,  closing  tightly  against  the  roof,  so 
that  the  whole  has  more  the  appearance  of  a  little 
house  on  wheels  than  a  carriage. 

"If  I  dared  to  jump  on  behind,"  said  the  boy,  as  the 
conveyance  approached  him.  "I  wonder  if  it  would 


28  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

be  wrong?  I  don't  know.  Mamma  never  told  me  so, 
but  she  has  said  that  if  my  thoughts  incline  me  to 
something  about  which  there  is  any  uncertainty  in  my 
mind  it  is  either  wicked  or  akin  to  wickedness. 
Whether  or  not,  I  will  not  do  it  before  I  have  asked 
her.  It  is  surely  better  that  1  do  not  jump  on  behind. 
Yes,  I  ought  to  obey  my  good  mamma  and  do  nothing 
that  I  do  not  know  is  right.  But  she  is  freezing,  hun- 
gry and  ill,  and  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  drag  this 
heavy  load  home  alone.  Good  God,  what  shall  I  do!" 

The  carriage  had  now  reached  the  way  in  front  of 
the  boy,  who  concealed  himself  behind  the  trunk  of 
a  large  tree,  growing  at  the  edge  of  the  ditch  border- 
ing the  road. 

"I  believe  I'll  jump  on,  anyway,"  thought  he.  "It 
can  be  no  great  sin,  at  most." 

So  said,  so  done.  When  the  carriage  arrived  oppo- 
site the  tree  behind  which  the  boy  was  concealed,  he 
sprang  forward,  and  with  his  last  remaining  strength 
had  the  good  fortune  to  reach  the  rear  seat,  where  he 
placed  himself,  holding  his  bundle  before  him  on  his 
knees.  His  little  heart  beat  fast  with  anxiety  lest  he 
be  discovered  and  driven  from  his  place.  But  a  long 
time  passed  without  anyone  inside  having  apparently 
noticed  his  presence,  and  he  had  begun  to  believe 
himself  out  of  danger,  when,  unfortunately,  one  of  the 
long  dry  sticks  scraped  the  side  of  the  carriage. 

"Hold  on,  driver!  "  called  a  harsh  voice  from  with- 
in. 

The  carriage  was  brought  to  a  stand.  The  little 
boy  trembled  with  alarm.  He  could  not  muster  suffi- 
cient strength  to  jump  down  and  run  away 

"Some  one  is  sitting  on  the  rear  of  the  carriage," 
continued  the  voice.  "Get  down  and  see  who  it  is." 


THE   LITTLE  WOOD -GATHERER  2Q 

A  servant  who  was  sitting  beside  the  driver,  sprang 
to  the  ground  to  obey  his  master's  command,  and  ap- 
proached the  boy  who,  nearly  half  dead  with  fright, 
drew  himself  into  a  heap  at  one  end  of. the  seat,  still 
holding  fast  to  his  precious  bundle  of  sticks.  The 
servant  grasped  him  tightly  by  the  arm  and  dragged 
him  roughly  to  the  ground,  whereupon  his  bundle  fell 
from  his  hands,  and  the  rope  becoming  untied,  his 
sticks  were  scattered  upon  the  ground.  In  tears  the 
boy  stooped  to  pick  them  up,  but  the  hard-hearted 
servant  checked  him,  at  the  same  time  thrusting  him 
forward  to  the  coach  door.  "Herr  Baron,"  said  he,  "it 
is  a  little  beggar  that  was  on  the  back  seat.  Here  I 
have  him." 

The  carriage  door  opened.  The  frightened  bey  vent- 
ured to  cast  a  glance  within.  The  darkness  prevented 
his  distinguishing  the  countenances  of  the  occupants, 
but  he  noticed  that  there  was  a  man  and  a  woman, 
holding  a  sleeping  child  upon  their  knees,  and  oppo- 
site these,  on  the  rear  seat,  a  boy  of  about  six  years, 
and  beside  him  another  gentleman  of  tall  figure  and 
clad  in  a  traveling-cloak  of  dark  cloth.  The  first 
mentioned  gentleman  thrust  his  head  through  the 
doorway,  and  grasping  the  wood  gatherer  tightly  by 
the  arm,  shook  him  vigorously.  "I'll  teach  you,  you 
thief,"  cried  he,  in  angry  tones,  "to  climb  upon  the 
carriages  of  strange  people.  Where  did  you  learn 
such  capers?" 

"O,  my  good  sir,"  pleaded  the  weeping  boy,  "I  am 
not  a  thief.  I  am  a  poor  boy,  only  carrying  a  bundle 
of  wood  from  the  forest  to  my  mother,  who  is  lying 
ill  and  freezing  in  our  miserable  hut,  and  I  was  so  tired 
that  I  could  no  longer  bear  my  burden,  wherefore  I 
made  bold  to  climb  upon  the  back  seat  of  your  car- 
riage. I  did  not  know  it  was  wrong." 


30  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Enough  of  your  prating,"  interrupted  the  traveler 
at  the  same  time  relaxing  his  hold,  "these  beggars  are 
always  crying  about  sick  mothers.  It  is  so  general 
that  one  hears  nothing  else.  You  lie,  as  all  your  ilk 
are  liars/' 

"Papa,"  said  the  boy  sitting  within,  "may  I  hit  the 
little  beggar  with  my  whip?"  And  without  waiting 
for  an  answer,  he  bent  forward  through  the  carriage 
door  and  struck  the  poor  lad  in  the  face  with  the 
whip  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"Stop  that,  George!"  exclaimed  the  gentleman  who, 
enveloped  in  a  traveling-cloak,  was  riding  backward 
in  the  carriage,  at  the  same  time  catching  the  arm  of 
the  little  tyrant,  "don't  do  that.  The  poor  boy  has 
been  sufficiently  punished  for  his  insignificant  fault, 
and  it  is  shocking  to  see  a  child  of  your  years  exhibit 
such  an  inclination  to  be  cruel." 

The  wood  gatherer  cast  a  look  of  gratitude  at  the 
speaker,  but  the  boy  in  the  carriage  retorted  inso- 
lently: 

"You  need  not  concern  yourself  about  me,  master, 
when  my  father  says  nothing. " 

The  gentleman  thus  addressed  made  no  reply,  but 
heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

"Get  up  there,  Johan,"  commanded  the  austere  gen- 
tleman. "And  you.  boy,  learn  that  hereafter  you  must 
not  ride  when  you  have  not  received  permission  to  do 
so.  Drive  on,  coachman!" 

The  carriage  rolled  away.  The  little  wood-gatherer 
clasped  his  hands  over  his  eyes  and  wept,  bitterly, 
violently,  as  only  a  child  can  weep. 

"I  told  him  m)r  mother  was  sick,"  sobbed  he,  "and 
he  declared  that  I  lied — called  me  a  thief — and  his  lit- 
tle boy  struck  me  in  the  face  with  his  whip.  Such  are 


THE    LITTLE   WOOD-GATHERER  3! 

the  rich.  Had  it  been  a  poor  peasant  coming  along, 
he  would  not  have  driven  me  away,  much  less  struck 
me  and  called  me  a  thief — I,  who  never  stole  so  much 
as  a  pin.  O,  my  God!  How  shall  I  get  home  to  my 
dear  mamma! " 

The  boy  stopped  and  began  to  gather  his  sticks, 
while  fresh  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes. 

"Why  do  you  weep,  my  poor  child?"  came  a  voice 
in  compassionate  tones,  and  at  the  same  time  a  heavy 
hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder. 

The  boy  looked  up.  Before  him  stood  a  young  man, 
his  attire  almost  reduced  to  rags,  and  with  a  wild, 
weather-beaten  face,  whose  coarse  outlines,  neverthe- 
less, in  that  glance  seemed  to  be  softened  by  a  natural 
tenderness. 

"Why  do  you  weep?"  he  repeated. 

The  tone  in  which  this  was  uttered  gave  the  boy 
confidence,  notwithstanding  the  wild  aspect  and  the 
red,  unkempt  hair  and  beard  of  the  person  addressing 
him.  He  related,  with  the  straightforwardness  of  a 
child,  his  cause  of  distress,  and  even  gave  an  account 
of  his  adventure  with  the  occupants  of  the  carriage, 
and  the  outrageous  treatment  to  which  he  had  been 
subjected. 

The  man  with  the  red  hair  clenched  his  fists  in  rage 
at  the  completion  of  the  recital. 

"Yes,  such  they  are!"  muttered  he,  stamping  the 
ground  in  anger.  "Such  they  are,  those  rich  and 
haughty  aristocrats  who  look  upon  themselves  as  creat- 
ures of  a  higher  order  than  the  poor  and  oppressed. 
It' is  mean  to  so  treat  a  poor  child.  How  old  are 
you?"  continued  he,  turning  to  the  boy. 

"Almost  ten  years." 

"Have  you  attended  school?" 


32  THE    PLAY    OF    PATF. 

"Yes,  I  go  every  day  to  the  kind  pastor  in  our  vil- 
lage, who,  without  pay,  gives  me  instructions." 

"So,  ho!     And  what  do  you  learn  from  him?" 

"O,  much,"  burst  forth  the  boy.  "I  read  history, 
Latin  and  German,  and  have  recently  begun  geometry. 
But  you  cannot  understand  what  these  things  mean." 

"O,  yes,"  answered  the  man  in  a  sorrowful  tone, 
"I  understand  them  all  very  well,  for  I  also  attended 
school  when  I  was  about  your  age.  I  found  great 
pleasure,  as  well,  in  reading  and  studying  the  works 
of  which  you  speak;  but  the  rich  people  hunted  me 
out  into  the  world,  and  wrought  my  destruction,  '  he 
continued  with  growing  wrath.  "It  is  they  who  have 
made  me  what  I  am,  and  I  have,  therefore,  sworn  to 
hate  them  until  my  death." 

The  speaker  paused,  seeming  to  be  overwhelmed 
with  bitter  thoughts. 

"Hear  me,  boy,"  said  he  finally.  "You  shall  swear 
to  evermore  hate  the  rich  and  haughty  who  oppress 
you,  and  all  poor  people;  you  shall  swear  to  pursue 
them  so  long  as  a  drop  of  blood  remains  in  your  veins; 
you  shall  swear  Hannibal's  oath  against  the  accursed 
caste.  Do  you  understand  me?" 

"O,  yes,"  cried  the  boy, who,  in  his  present  wrought- 
up  condition  was  in  a  high  degree  fascinated  by  the 
man's  awful  and  menacing  words.  "Hannibal's  oath! 
I  know  it  very  well,  for  I  have  read  about  him  in 
Cornelius.  It  was  he  who  in  his  childhood  swore  to 
forever  hate  the  Romans,  an  oath  he  kept  faithfully 
to  the  end  of  his  days." 

"Well,"  resumed  the  man,"  you  shall  swear  the  same 
oath  against  the  rich  and  haughty.  They  are  our 
Romans,  and  we  are  their  Carthaginians.  They  call 
us  thieves  and  beggars,  while  they  squeeze  from  us  the 


THE    LITTLE   WOOD-GATHERER  33 

last  penny  we  possess — while  they  fatten  in  their 
stately  palaces  upon  our  sweat  and  blood.  Curses 
upon  them ! " 

"Curses  upon  them!"  repeated  the  boy,  thoroughly 
carried  away.  "I  swear  to  hate  them!" 

"Good!"  said  the  man  admiringly.  "What  is  your 
name,  my  boy?" 

"Maurits  Sterner,"  replied  the  child. 

"Sterner?"  said  the  other  in  surprise.  "You  have  a 
very  pretty  name.  Does  your  father  live?" 

'I  don't  know,"  answered  the  bo}-,  "I  have  never 
seen  him;  my  mother  says  he  is  dead,  but  that  I  shall 
in  time  be  informed  who  he  was." 

"Hm!"  muttered  the  man  between  his  teeth.  "A 
bastard,  then.  Another  liaison,  maybe,  of  some  of  the 
gentry." 

"Your  father,"  continued  he  in  louder  tones,  "was 
not  named  Sterner  then?" 

"No,  that  name  my  mother  and  the  priest,  my 
teacher,  found  for  me.  They  agreed  that  I  should  be 
so  called,  for  one  must  have  a  name,  they  said." 

:iAnd  how  long  have  you  borne  that  name?" 

"Something  more  than  a  year,  Before  that  I  was 
called  only  Maurits." 

"Where  do  you  live?" 

"Near  the  little  village  that  lies  over  yonder. "  And 
the  boy  pointed  forward,  but  on  account  of  the  dark- 
ness, which  was  now  complete,  one  could  not  distin- 
guish the  houses  thereof. 

"And  your  mother  and  you  live  alone  in  a  hut?"  in- 
quired the  man. 

"Yes,  we  are  very  poor.  But  it  was  not  always 
so. " 

"Not  always  so!      How  was  it,  then?" 


34  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"We  once  had  a  pretty  little  house,  a  few  miles 
from  here,  with  a  garden  attached  in  which  I  could 
run  and  play.  I  had  also  a  paid  teacher  who  came  to 
o.ir  house  every  day  to  instruct  me,  and  I  could  then 
sit  before  thi  tire  autumn  evenings  and  bake  apples 
and  eat  nuts.  That  is  past  now,  and  instead,  I  mus1 
go  to  the  forest  to  gather  wood  for  my  poor  mother, 
who,  through  sorrow  and  suffering,  has  become  very 
feeble." 

"But  how  does  it  happen  that  you  are  so  very  poor?" 

"I  don't  know.  My  mother  says  that  my  father  was 
alive  in  those  days  and  paid  our  expenses;  but  he  is 
now  dead  and  can  no  longer  help  us." 

"Did  you  never  see  your    father  during  that  time?" 

"I  saw  a  gentleman  who  sometimes  came  to  see  us, 
and  who  was  very  good,  but  I  do  not  know  if  he  were 
my  father,  for  no  one  ever  told  me  so.  I  have  many 
times  asked  mamma  concerning  it,  but  she  says  I  may 
not  know  until  I  am  twenty  years  old.  Such  was  his 
parting  wish." 

During  this  dialogue,  the  red-headed  man  had  gath- 
ered together  the  sticks  that  Maurits  had  brought  thus 
far  on  his  way  home,  and,  throwing  the  bundle  over 
his  shoulders,  he  took  the  boy  by  the  hand  and  said: 

"Come,  let  us  go.  I  will  carry  the  wood  for  you, 
and  we  can  continue  our  conversation  on  the  way." 

"You  are  very  kind  to  help  me,"  said  the  boy  feel- 
ingly. "That  rich  man  struck  me,  and  called  me  a 
thief,  and  you,  who  are  poor,  carry  my  burden.  This 
is  strange!" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  the  man  grimly,  "it  is  quite  ordinary. 
But  tell  me,  my  boy,  how  do  you  live  since  you  and 
your  mother  have  become  poor?" 

"When  my  mother  is  well,  she  works  very  diligently. 


THE   LITl'LE  WOOD-GATHERER  35 

She  sews  for  many  of  the  gentry  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  by  times  spins  and  weaves  cloth  which  she  sells 
in  the  market  place.  In  this  manner  we  manage  to 
get  along;  but  now,"  added  the  boy  weeping,  "I  see 
nothing  for  us  but  starvation,  for  mamma  is  sick  and 
can  no  longer  work." 

"Console  yourself,  my  poor  child,"  said  the  man 
compassionately.  "Your  mother  will  recover,  with 
time,  no  doubt;  meanwhile,  some  kind-.hearted  person 
will  come  to  your  relief,  let  u  hope.  But  what  does 
your  mother  call  herself?" 

"She  is  called  Madam  Sterner  by  our  neighbors,  be- 
cause, since  I  received  that  name,  she  has  assumed  it 
in  order  that  hers  may  be  the  same  as  mine.  She 
loves  me  so  much,  my  good  mother." 

"What  was  her  name  before?" 

"That  I  do  not  know,"  answered  the  boy.  "Her 
baptismal  name  is  Augusta;  but  if  she  ever  had  a 
surname,  I  have  not  learned  it." 

"An  extraordinary  story,"  muttered  the  young  man 
to  himself.  "He  is  a  bastard,  that  is  clear;  but  he 
does  not  yet  know  what  that  means,  poor  boy.  I  am 
truly  sorry  for  the  poor  child." 

"Maurits,"  continued  he  aloud,  "if  you  and  your 
mother  come  to  great  need,  go  you  at  the  end  of  eight 
days,  that  is  to  say  next  Friday,  at  five  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  to  that  old  stone-pile  that  lies  by  the  road- 
side near  the  edge  of  the  forest,  which  was  thrown  up 
to  preserve  the  memory  of  a  murder  that  was  com- 
mitted there  a  few  years  ago.  Do  you  know  the  place?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  answered  the  boy  with  an  involuntary 
shudder.  "I  have  been  there  this  evening.  I  became 
frightened  and  ran  away.  But  what  shall  I  do  there 
next  Friday?" 


36  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"You  will  find  me  there,"  replied  this  singular  man, 
"and  if  I  can  in  any  way  help  }rou  in  your  trouble,  I 
will  do  so,  depend  upon  it." 

'You!"  exclaimed  the  boy  with  surprise.  "In  what 
manner  can  you  help  me?  Can  you  procure  bread  for 
my  poor  mother  and  me?" 

"That  is  not  impossible,  my  boy.  If  you  do  not  need 
my  assistance,  so  much  the  better.  But  come  at  any 
rate,  for  J  have  much  to  tell  you.  Let  no  one  know 
anything  about  our  appointment,  however." 

"Not  even  my  mother?" 

"No,  not  even  her.     That  would  destroy  everything. " 

"What  is  your  name?"  asked  Maurits,  with  some 
misgivings. 

"I  —  my  name  is  Jacob  Kron.  But  here  we 
have  the  village  before  us.  Which  is  your  mother's 
house?" 

"It  lies  a  little  to  one  side  of  the  others.  I  can't 
see  it  in  the  dark;  but  here  is  the  road  that  leads  to 
it." 

'  Good  !  I  will  leave  you  now.  You  have  had  time 
to  regain  your  strength,  and  can  easily  carry  your 
bundle  of  wood  the  remainder  of  the  way.  Do  not 
forget  your  oath,  and  keep  in  mind  five  o'clock  Friday 
evening  at  the  murdered  man's  monument." 

"I'll  be  there,"  answered  the  boy,  after  a  little  re- 
flection. "Meantime,  let  me  thank  you  for  carrying 
my  wood,  and  for  having  been  so  kind  to  me.  I  shall 
pray  to  the  good  God  for  you  this  evening  before  I 
sleep." 

"Do  so,  my  good  child,"  said  Jacob  with  feeling.  "I 
need  your  prayers  very  much.  Farewell!" 

The  boy  took  the  bundle  upon  his  shoulders,  grasped 
the  hand  of  his  new-found  acquaintance,  and  turned 


THE    LITTLE   WOOD  GATHERER  37 

into  the  little  road  that  led  to  his  mother's  hnt,  while 
Jacob  continued  his  way  down  the  high-road. 


CHAPTER    II 

MOTHER  AND   SON 

The  little  wood-gatherer  dragged  his  burden  onward 
through  a  narrow  lane,  at  length,  at  the  termination 
thereof,  nearing  a  little  hut,  a  dilapidated  structure 
presenting  a  sorry  picture.  The  straw  roof  was  almost 
rotted  away,  and  the  door  so  low  that  even  the  boy 
was  compelled  to  stoop  when  entering  to  escape  strik- 
ing his  head  against  the  lintel. 

Entering  the  porch,  he  began  with  his  little  hands, 
red  and  benumbed  with  cold,  to  search  upon  the  right 
door-post  for  the  bolt. 

"Is  that  you,  Maurits?"  was  heard  in  a  weak  and 
anxious  voice  from  within. 

"Yes,  mamma,  I'll  be  with  you  soon." 

"God  be  praised!" 

Maurits  now  opened  the  door,  and  entered  a  cold 
and  gloomy  room  so  dark  that  no  object  was  discerni- 
ble. 

"Thank  the  Lord,  you  are  with  me  again,  my  dear 
child,"  continued  a  gentle  voice,  which  came  from  a 
bed  in  one  corner  of  the  room.  "I  have  been  so  anx- 
ious lest  you  had  gone  astray,  or  had  been  overtaken 
and  devoured  by  wolves.  Why  have  you  been  so  long 
away?" 

"Comfort  yourself,  mother,"  answered  the  shivering 
lad.  "I  have  a  large  bundle  of  wood  with  me,  and  I 
will  soon  make  a  fire  so  that  you  can  warm  yourself, 

38 


MOTHER    AND    SON  39 

and  I  will  also  make  some  warm  soup  for  you  from  the 
little  piece  of  meat  we  have  remaining,  after  which 
you  shall  have  an  account  of  my  adventures." 

"Your  adventures,  my  boy!"  exclaimed  the  mother 
anxiously.  "You  have  surely  not  been  in  an}'  danger, 
1  hope!" 

"No,  no,  not  in  danger,  but  one  may,  nevertheless, 
have  his  little  adventures.  How  do  you  feel  now, 
mother?" 

"I  am  very  faint,  and  it  is  freezing  cold  in  this 
room,  although  I  have  all  my  clothes  on,  and  all  our 
bed  covering.  Otherwise,  I  feel  no  pain." 

"Be  of  good  cheer,  mother,  we'll  soon  be  able  to 
warm  ourselves.  Usch!  My  clothes  are  wet  quite 
through,  for  it  is  raining  hard." 

"My  poor  boy!  God  spare  you  from  sickness  in  con- 
sequence!" 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  mamma!  See,  the  fire  is  finally 
started. " 

Maurits  had  busied  himself  during  this  conversation, 
and  had  at  last  succeeded  in  starting  a  fire  in  the 
tinder-box,  which  he  had  taken  from  the  mantelpiece. 
He  then  lighted  a  piece  ot  candle  remaining  in  a  can- 
dlestick upon  the  table,  and  hastened  to  start  a  fire 
in  the  fireplace,  and  soon  the  little  room  was  warmed 
by  a  cheerful  blaze.  The  room  was  also  suddenly 
lighted  up.  The  furniture  thus  revealed  was  a  singular 
mixture  of  poverty  and  neatness —yes,  almost  of  ele- 
gance. 

The  walls  and  ceiling  were  black  with  age,  and 
through  a  single  little  window  the  only  daylight  i  n- 
tered;  the  tables  and  chairs  were  of  the  plainest  make, 
and  a  sofa  which  stood  at  one  side  of  the  room  showed 
no  sign  of  paint.  But,  withal,  there  were  many  arti- 


40  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

cles  that  indicated  better  days,  and  which  seemed  to 
be  the  remains  of  a  time  of  plenty  if  not  of  luxury. 
The  bed  in  which  the  sick  woman  lay  was  surrounded 
by  white  curtains,  at  present  drawn  together,  so  that 
one  could  but  imperfectly  discern  the  fine  contour  of 
the  emaciated  form  that  reclined  within. 

By  the  wall,  near  the  bed,  stood  a  handsome  bu- 
reau, and  upon  it  a  small  toilet  mirror,  whose  glass, 
though  cracked,  revealed  an  elegance  in  keeping  with 
the  prettiest  of  boudoirs.  The  bureau  was  covered 
with  a  white  spread,  and  at  the  side  of  the  mirror 
stood  two  crystal  vases — a  present  perhaps,  from  some 
loved  one — upon  one  of  which  lay  a  small  gold  ring 
with  a  setting  of  blue  stone  shaped  to  represent  a  for- 
get-me-not. 

Against  the  wall  nearest  the  fireplace  stood  a  cup- 
board, a  receptacle  for  the  various  articles  of  table- 
ware, and  among  sundry  clay  dishes,  wooden  plates, 
and  tin  spoons,  two  cups  of  finest  India  porcelain 
were  noticeable. 

The  floor,  white  as  snow,  was  strewn  with  pine 
twigs,  and  the  wooden  chairs  and  table  displayed  the 
utmost  neatness,  order  and  cleanliness.  In  a  word, 
there  was  to  be  seen  in  that  hut  a  strong  blending 
of  poverty  and  luxury.  It  was  for  the  possessor,  a 
mournful,  but,  without  doubt,  a  precious  reminder  of 
the  bright  days  of  youth,  love,  and  happiness. 

That  mirror,  those  crystal  vases,  those  porcelaii. 
cups,  how  many  memories,  sweet  and  holy,  were  prob- 
ably associated  with  them,  and  may  it  not  be  that  the 
broken  glass,  sometime  in  its  earlier  days,  reflected  a 
face  blushing  in  the  happiness  of  love,  beaming  with 
youth  and  beauty?  And  that  gold  ring  with  its  for- 
get-me-nots, who  knows  but  it  was,  in  an  instant  of 


MOTHER    AND    SON  4! 

transport,  pressed  upon  the  owner's  finger  by  some 
loved  hand  as  a  seal  of  eternal  faith,  whose  bond  only 
death  should  sever? 

Precious  and  sad  relics  these,  of  a  past  in  strange 
contrast  with  the  other  objects  that  denoted  a  melan- 
choly and  bitter  present. 

Yes;  for  those  tottering,  unplastered  walls,  that  roof 
blackened  with  smoke,  those  clumsy  wooden  chairs, 
and  that  worm-eaten  table,  that  candlestick  holding 
a  flickering  stump  of  candle,  and,  finally,  that  thinly- 
clad,  half-frozen  boy  crouching  in  a  heap  before  the 
fire,  in  the  effort  to  dry  his  wet  clothes  by  the  sputter- 
ing flames  from  a  few  soggy  sticks  brought  from  the 
forest,  all  this  was  a  mournful  remembrance  of  a  bitter 
certainty,  against  which  the  aforementioned  articles 
of  luxury  formed  a  striking,  a  mocking  comparison. 

'Now,  mamma,  I'll  make  you  some  soup,"  said 
Maurits,  after  he  had  warmed  himself  before  the  fire  a 
few  minutes.  "I  am  no  longer  cold,  and  my  clothes 
will  soon  dry,  so  don't  worry." 

The  poor  boy  had  told  a  falsehood  in  order  to  con- 
sole his  mother,  for  his  teeth  were  still  chattering 
from  cold. 

'God  bless  you,  my  little  boy,  for  your  tender  love," 
sobbed  the  mother;  "but  come  here  first  and  help  me 
to  get  up,  so  that  I  may  get  nearer  the  fire.  It  will  do 
me  good." 

"If  only  there  is  no  danger,  mamma,"  said  Maurits, 
in  troubled  tones.  "Ought  you  not  to  remain  quiet?" 

"Oh,  no,  my  child,  I  do  not  feel  very  ill  now,  but 
my  limbs  are  numb  from  cold.  Come,  therefore,  and 
assist  me,  like  a  good  boy. " 

Maurits  hastened  to  drag  a  heavy  chair  forward  to 
the  fire,  after  which  he  approached  the  bed  to  assist 
his  mother. 


42  THli    PLAY    OF1    FAfE 

The  sick  woman  raised  herself  with  difficulty,  and, 
leaning  upon  her  son's  youthful  shoulders,  tottered  to 
the  fireplace,  where,  wholly  exhausted,  she  sank  into 
the  chair  that  had  been  prepared  for  her. 

This  woman  seemed  to  be  twenty-seven  or  twenty- 
eight  years  old,  but  sorrow  and  sickness  had  blanched 
her  cheeks,  and  slacked  the  former  fire  in  her  deep-set 
eyes.  Otherwise,  in  that  pleasingly  composed  and 
gentle  face,  shaded  by  a  luxuriance  of  raven  black  hair, 
a  heavenly  tranquillity  and  resignation  were  reflected. 

Her  form,  much  reduced  and  bent,  was  clad  in  a 
poor  and  thin,  nevertheless  very  tastily  made  dress  of 
black  bombazine,  fitting  neatly  the  uncommonly  pretty 
waist,  and  buttoning  high  up  on  the  throat. 

It  was  quite  apparent  that  this  woman,  in  her  early 
youth,  was  endowed  with  surpassing  beauty.  Even 
yet  there  were  unmistakable  traces  of  it,  though  sor- 
row had  changed  the  roses  of  her  cheeks  to  white 
lilies,  and,  instead  of  the  former  luster  in  those  dark 
eyes,  had  given  them  a  calm,  dreamy,  and  melancholy 
expression. 

The  poor  mother,  when  she  sank  into  the  chair  be- 
fore the  fireplace,  threw  her  arms  around  her  son's 
neck,  and  pressed  her  little  darling's  head  to  her 
bosom. 

"Mamma,"  said  the  boy  finally,  at  the  same  time 
loosening  his  mother's  arms,  "the  fire  will  soon  be 
out,  and  I  must  make  your  soup.  Then  I  must  roast 
the  potatoes  in  the  embers,  shall  I  not?" 

"Yes,  my  good  child,  but  first  take  off  your  jacket 
and  hang  it  before  the  fire  to  dry. " 

Maurits  obeyed.  Then,  filling  a  vessel  with  water, 
he  laid  a  small  piece  of  meat  therein,  and  set  it  upon 
the  fire. 


MOTHER    AND    SON  43 

"Now,"  said  he  with  touching  tenderness,  "you  shall 
have  a  good,  strengthening  meal,  mother  mine.  You 
need  it  after  your  long  suffering  from  cold." 

He  now  drew  up  a  chair  and  seated  himself  by  her 
side. 

"You  give  no  thought  to  yourself,  my  little  boy," 
said  Mrs.  Sterner,  brushing  the  long  black  locks  from 
her  son's  clear  forehead;  "  you  forget  your  own  hunger 
in  your  love  for  me  God  bless  you!  " 

"Ah,  mother,  that  is  of  no  consequence.  I  am  not 
very  hungry,  and  if  I  get  a  piece  of  bread  I  shall  have 
enough;  but  it  is  too  bad  that  we  should  be  so  poor 
and  deserted." 

"It  is,  indeed,  my  son,"  said  Madame  Sterner,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes.  "We  are  certainly  poor  and  aban- 
dorred,  as  you  say,  but  we  must  love  and  support  each 
other.  Shall  we  not?" 

"Forever,  mamma,"  cried  the  boy,  throwing  himself 
upon  her  breast.  "I  will  always  love  you,  and  when 
I  grow  up  and  have  a  little  house,  as  pretty  as  we 
once  had  before  we  were  poor,  you  shall  come  and 
live  with  your  little  Maurits,  and  you  shall  have  a 
garden  in  which  to  walk,  and  plenty  of  the  pretty 
flowers  you  love  so  much." 

The  poor  mother  could  not  answer  for  tears,  and 
only  pressed  her  son  closer  to  her  bosom. 

"My  dear  child, >;  said  she  after  a  time,  with  broken 
voice,  "God  grant  that  I  may  some  day  see  you  prosper- 
ous and  happy.  I  could  then,  with  joy,  close  my 
eyes;  but  oh,  a  voice  tells  me  that  we  shall  separate 
ere  long.'' 

"Separate,  mamma!     Never!" 

"Yes,  my  friend,  your  mother  must  leave  you;  she  is 
going  to  seek  him  whom  she  loved,  and  who  went  be- 


44  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

fore  her  to  another  world;  but  her  eyes  shall  follow 
you  constantly  from  those  beautiful  halls.  There  she 
will  rejoice  when  it  goes  well  with  you,  and  sorrow 
when  it  goes  ill." 

"No,  mother,"  sobbed  the  child,  "do  not  talk  so. 
You  are  not  going  away  from  your  Maurits  who  loves 
you  so  dearly.  Heavenly  Father!  what  would  become 
of  me  then?" 

"Well,  let  us  talk  of  something  else,  my  son. 
Afflictions  will  come  soon  enough  without  courting 
them.  Tell  me  now,  as  you  promised,  what  kept  you 
so  long  in  the  forest." 

"Ah,  it  is  a  long  story,  mother,  but  you  must  not  be 
angry  with  me,  though  you  may  think  I  have  done 
wrong." 

"Done  wrong!  " 

"Yes,  I  jumped  upon  a  carriage  that  was  going  along 
the  road. " 

"That  was  not  right,  my  little  boy." 

"I  did  not  know  it  was  wrong,  and  I  was  so  tired, 
so  tired,  and  so  fearfully  cold.  I  had  net  the  strength 
to  carry  that  heavy  load  of  sticks  so  far.  I  felt  that 
I  must,  nevertheless,  get  them  home  in  order  to  warm 
3'ou.  I  thought,  therefore,  that  the  good  God  would 
surely  forgive  me  if  T  climbed  on  to  the  back  of  the 
carriage;  but  he  didn't,  tor  I  was  severely  punished  for 
my  mistake." 

"In  what  manner,  my  child?" 

Maurits  related,  in  tones  of  indignation,  how  he  had 
been  treated  by  the  gentleman  in  the  carriage,  and 
how  insulting  words  had  been  heaped  upon  him,  how 
he  had  been  called  thief  and  liar;  also,  how  the  little 
boy  had  struck  him  in  the  face  with  a  whip. 

"My  poor    boy!"  said    Mrs.    Sterner,  when    he   had 


MOTHER    AND    SON  45 

finished  his  narration,  "you  were,  as  you  say,  cruelly 
punished  for  your  misconduct.  It  was  too  bad  of 
that  gentleman  to  so  treat  a  child  of  your  years." 

"Yes,"  broke  forth  the  boy,  "such  are  they,  these 
rich  and  noble!  They  treat  the  poor  and  abandoned 
worse  than  a  dog  to  which  they  sometimes  throw  a 
bone;  but  oftener  lash  with  a  whip.  They  are  more 
pitiless  than  wild  animals." 

"For  God's  sake,  do  not  speak  so,  my  child,"  ex- 
claimed Mrs  Sterner,  earnestly.  "O  no,  my  dear  child, 
there  are  noble,upright  and  good-hearted  people  among 
all  classes.  The  rich  are  not  worse  than  others.  You 
must  not  think  so,  though  that  gentleman  whom  you 
chanced  to  offend  this  evening  seems  to  have  conducted 
himself  harshly  and  inhumanly. " 

"Yes,  mamma,"  continued  the  boy  with  warmth, 
"they  are  all  cruel  and  uncharitable;  so  thought  also 
the  red-haired  man  whom  I  met  later,  and  who  was 
kind  enough  to  help  me  with  my  burden." 

''The  red-haired  man!"  exclaimed  the  mother  in  sur- 
prise. "You  have  not  told  me  about  him,  Maurits. " 

"Wait.  One  can't  think  of  everything  at  once. 
When  the  carriage  had  gone  on  its  way,  and  I  in  tears 
was  picking  up  my  sticks  that  had  been  scattered  far 
and  wide,  a  red-haired  man,  very  poorly  clad,  came 
up  with  me.  He  asked  me  why  I  wept,  and,  when  I 
told  him,  he  was  very  angry  with  the  gentleman,  and 
said  that  all  the  rich  were  alike,  heartless  and  unkind. 
He  had  suffered  much  evil  at  their  hands,  he  said,  and 
had,  therefore,  sworn  to  ever  hate  and  persecute 
them. " 

"Great  God!"  exclaimed  the  mother.  "Did  he  say 
this  to  you?" 

"Yes,  mamma,  he  even  exhorted  me  to  swear  that  I 


46  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

too  would    always    hate    them — to    swear   Hannibal's 
oath  against  the  accursed  class,  as  he  expressed  it." 

"And  you,  what  did  you  do?"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Sterner,  with  the  liveliest  anxiety,  a  shudder  at  the 
same  time  passing  over  her. 

"Mamma,"  exclaimed  Maurits,  without  answering 
his  mother,  "do  you  not  see  that  the  soup  is  boiling 
over?  I  must  take  the  pan  oft  the  fire;  but  I  am  afraid 
I  shall  burn  myself. " 

"Boy,"  cried  the  mother,  almost  beside  herself, 
grasping  the  child  by  the  arm,  "answer  my  question!" 

•"What  question,  mother?"  greatly  surprised  at  his 
mother's  emotion. 

"What  did  you  do  when  the  red-haired  man  urged 
you  to  swear  that  you  would  forever  hate  the  rich?" 

"I  —  I  swore,  I  believe,"  answered  Maurits. 

The  child  did  not  yet  understand  the  gravity  of  that 
awful  oath.  He  regarded  the  act  as  one  of  little  sig- 
nificance. 

"Heavenly  Father!"  broke  forth  the  mother  in  de- 
spair, hiding  her  face  in  her  hands.  "What  have  you 
done,  unfortunate  child?  Do  you  know  what  a  horri- 
ble oath  you  have  taken?  Do  you  know  whom  you 
have  sworn  to  hate?  O,  God,  it  is  terrible!" 

"Don't  grieve,  mother,"  said  Maurits,  weeping,  and 
throwing  his  thin  arms  round  his  mother's  neck;  "had 
I  known  that  you  would  have  taken  it  so  ili,  I  should 
not,  of  course,  have  done  as  the  red-head  bade  me,  but 
I  did  not  know  there  was  any  harm  in  it.1 

"Yes,  yes,  my  son,  '  said  Mrs.  Sterner  more  calmly, 
"that  is  all  that  comforts  me,  that  you  did  not  know 
the  harm.  You  are  a  child,  and  you  have  been  easily 
misled,  unable  to  distinguish  the  evil  import  of  the 
oath  exacted  from  you  by  che  man.  But  you  must 


MOTHER    AND    SON  47 

promise  me  never  more  to  think  of  what  he  said  to 
you.  You  must  forget  it,  otherwise  I  shall  be  grieved 
to  death." 

''Don't  cry  any  more,  mamma,"  interrupted  Maurits. 
"I  promise  that  I  will  do  everything  you  wish  if  you 
will  be  your  former  self  again,  and  kind  to  your  little 
boy.  I'll  say  to  the  red-head,  when  I  meet  him,  that 
you  were  greatly  grieved  over  our  meeting  and  the 
oath,  and  that  I  have,  therefore,  thought  better  of  it.  ' 

"No,  no,  you  shall  never  talk  with  that  creature 
again.  He  is  a  dangerous  man,  and  you  must  avoid 
him." 

"A  dangerous  man!"  said  the  boy  in  surprise.  "He 
is  surely  not  dangerous,  but  very  good  hearted,  for  he 
helped  me  to  carry  my  sticks,  and  did  not  strike  me 
as  the  rich  man  did." 

"Believe  me,  my  child,  the  man  whom  you  thought 
so  kind,  has  done  you  far  more  harm  than  the  rich 
gentleman  who  was  so  brutal  to  you." 

"How  so,  mamma?     I  do  not  understand  you." 

"Because  he  would  teach  you  to  hate,  and  there  is 
no  feeling  more  cruel,  more  unchristian  and  barbaric, 
than  hate.  Do  you  not  know  that  God  has  commanded 
us  to  love  our  fellow  men  as  brothers,  though  they  be 
high  or  low,  rich  or  poor,  friends  or  enemies?  Do 
you  not  know  that  love  is  the  basis  of  all  that  is  beau- 
tiful, all  that  is  good,  all  that  is  elevating  upon  earth? 
That  it  is  this  feeling  that  strews  our  pathway  with 
roses  of  peace,  happiness  and  joy,  while  hate  begets 
nothing  but  misfortune,  sorrow,  and  crime — the  this- 
tles and  weeds  in  our  existence?  Obey  me,  therefore, 
my  dear  child,  and  guard  against  another  meeting  with 
that  man,  who  would  exterminate  the  flowers  of  love, 
and  sow  seeds  of  hate  in  their  stead." 


4  >  THE    PLAY     OF    KATE 

"But,  mamma,  said  Maurits,  "did  not  the  rich  man, 
in  his  way,  make  an  attempt  to  teach  me  to  hate?" 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"Has  he  not,  by  his  cruelty,  much  more  than  the 
red-head  by  his  talk,  tended  to  instill  into  me  that 
feeling?  If  he  had  been  kind  toward  me,  I  should 
not  have  done  as  the  other  man  bade  me.  The  former 
has  thus  been  quite  as  dangerous  to  me  as  the  latter." 

Mrs.  Sterner  was  greatly  surprised  at  the  acuteness 
of  the  child.  She  was  forced  to  admit,  without  ac- 
knowledging so  much,  that  Maurits  was  right. 

"You  may  be  right  in  this,  my  child,"  said  she. 
"The  rich  are  not  aware,  many  times,  what  ill  they 
do  by  their  harshness  toward  the  poor.  It  is  not 
enough  that  they  misuse  them  and  rob  them  of  their 
material  things,  they  make  even  their  souls  bitter  and 
hateful,  and  destroy  every  germ  of  love  within  them. 
God  will  one  day  demand  a  reckoning  from  the  rich  for 
the  many  acts  of  injustice  they  have  committed  against 
the  poor." 

"Yes,  mamma,  the  red-haired  man,  whose  name  is 
Jacob  Kron,  said  also  that  they  ruined  him  and  brought 
him  to' what  he  is.  He  had  been  to  school;  said  he 
had  read  the  same  things  that  I  read  daily,  for  the 
good  Pastor  Bergholm,  but  the  rich  had  hunted  him 
out  into  the  world  and  caused  his  downfall,  wherefore 
he  had  become  reckless  and  full  of  hate." 

"It  seems  to  me  that  you  took  careful  note  of  all 
the  man  said,"  resumed  Mrs.  Sterner. 

"Yes,  mamma,  he  asked  me  many  questions  about 
my  parents,  and  would  know  who  my  father  was." 

"And  what  answer  did  )rou  give?" 

"I  told  him  all  I  knew;  that  we  formerly  lived  in  a 
pretty  house,  and  had  all  and  more  than  we  needed; 


MOTHER   AND    SON  49 

that  a  gentleman,  whom  I  believed  to  be  my  father, 
visited  us  often,  and  was  very  kind  to  us,  but  that  he 
was  now  dead,  and  that  we  were  obliged,  therefore, 
to  move  from  our  pretty  little  home  and  .our  garden, 
having  become  very  poor.  But  when  the  stranger 
asked  me  what  my  father's  name  was,  I  was  almost 
ashamed  that  I  did  not  know." 

"You  need  not  be  ashamed,  my  dear  child,"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Sterner,  lifting  her  head  proudly;  "there 
is  no  stain  attached  to  your  birth,  and  notwithstanding 
all  I  have  suffered,  notwithstanding  that  I  am  mis- 
judged and  slandered,  I  can,  nevertheless,  God  be 
praised!  without  occasion  for  a  blush,  look  the  world 
in  t-he  face,  point  to  you  and  say:  'He  is  my  son.'" 

"But,  mamma,  was  my  father  then  so  poor,  when 
he  died,  that  he  could  not  leave  us  anything  upon 
which  to  subsist?" 

"No,  my  child,  your  father  was  rich,  very  rich,  one 
of  the  richest  among  the  rich,  You  can  thus  easily 
understand  the  cause  of  my  great  distress  when  I  heard 
you  state  that  you  had  sworn  to  ever  hate  the  rich. 
It  was  as  if  the  son  would  hate  his  father's  memory." 

"But,"  interrupted  Maurits,  "if  my  father  was  rich, 
why  are  we  so  poor?  Why  do  we  dwell  in  this  miser- 
able hut?" 

"Well,  my  son.  concerning  this,  I  will  relate  to  you 
all  that  I  am  permitted,  but  you  must  promise  me 
never  to  speak  of  it  to  anyone." 

"I  promise  you,  mamma." 

"Good.  I  will  trust  you.  Hear  then  Before  I 
became  the  wife  of  your  father,  he  had  been  married 
once  before,  and  had  a  son  by  his  first  wife.  The 
marriage  after,  with  me,  took  place  in  great  secrecy. 
There  are  not  now  more  than  two  persons  living  who 


5O  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

could  testify  to  it,  and  they  are  the  priest  who  joined 
us  and  one  of  the  two  witnesses  who  were  present  at 
the  ceremony.  Your  lather  is  now  dead  and  his  death 
occurred  so  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  that  he  had 
not  yet  made  a  testament  in  our  behalf.  All  his  pos- 
sessions fell,  therefore,  intact  to  the  elder  son,  your 
half  brother.  When  your  father  died,  even  the  assist- 
ance he  had  given  us  ceased,  and  so  it  happened  that 
we  must  leave  the  pretty  house  we  formerly  occu- 
pied." 

"But,  mamma,"  said  Maurits,  "I  have  then  a  brother, 
alive  and  rich?" 

"Yes,  you  have  a  brother.  ' 

"And  why  does  he  not  help  us?" 

"He  does  not  know  that  we  are  his  kin.  He  does 
not  even  know  of  our  existence." 

"But  why  not  tell  him?" 

"Maurits,"  said  Mrs.  Sterner,  much  moved,  "would 
you  want  to  do  a  something  that  your  father,  a  very 
honorable  man,  had  forbidden?  Would  you,  after  his 
death,  break  a  command  that  he  had  given  while  yet 
alive?  Would  you  not  regard  it  as  your  most  sacred 
duty  to  conduct  yourself  as  he  had  desired?" 

"Yes,  mamma,  I  would  never  disobey  his   wishes." 

'  Well,  the  same  law  is  in.  force  with  me.  I  have 
a  most  sacred  duty  to  perform.  That  which  my  dear, 
my  absent  husband  enjoined  upon  me  I  must  inviola- 
bly hold  to,  however  much  my  heart  may  bleed,  how- 
ever great  the  sacrifices  I  must  make,  the  injustice 
I  must  submit  to.  Do  you  not  see  it,  my  son?" 

"Yes,  but  did  my  father  then  object  to  your  asking 
his  rich  son  for  assistance?" 

"When  I  saw  your  father  last,  Maurits,  he  said  to 
me:  "My  friend,  I  am  about  to  undertake  a  long 


MOTHER   AND    SON  5! 

journey.  It  will  be  a  long  time  ere  we  again  see  each 
other.  Meantime,  I  have  made  provision,  frugal,  but 
sufficient,  for  the  subsistence  of  you  and  our  son.  You 
can  live  quietly  and  free  from  care,  and,  before  I  die, 
I'll  provide  for  your  future.  But  one  thing,  Augusta, 
I  ask  a  pledge  from  you.  It  is  that  you  will  not  reveal 
to  anyone  the  bond  that  joins  you  to  me.  I  will  it 
that  my  son  shall  not  know  his  father's  name,  and  his 
position  in  life,  before  he  has  reached  his  twentieth 
year.  I  do  not  wish  him  to  be  brought  up  in  luxury 
and  idleness,  but  frugally  and  simply,  so  that,  if 
through  his  own  efforts,  he  shall  sometime  acquire 
riches  he  may  know  how  to  use  them  worthily.  Do 
you  promise  me  this,  my  dear?'  So  said  your  father, 
Maurits;  such  was  the  promise  he  exacted  from  me, 
and  I  promised.  Hence  it  is  that  we  cannot  ask  your 
brother  to  help  us,  for  my  promise  is  holy." 

"Yes,  mother,  it  is  clear  to  me  now.  But  why  did 
my  father  exact  such  a  promise  from  you?" 

"He  had  seen,  he  said,  in  his  elder  son  the  evil  in- 
fluences that  the  certainty  of  great  wealth  to  come  ex- 
ercises. That  son  had  been  ungrateful,  indolent,  and 
frivolous.  He  had  caused  his  father  many  troubles 
and  much  sorrow,  wherefore  the  good  and  noble  man 
wished  to  have  you  brought  up  in  an  entirely  different 
manner.  He  was  anxious  that  you  should  not  think 
yourself  rich;  he  wished  you  to  learn  to  earn  your 
own  bread,  and  by  your  own  efforts  make  your  way  in 
the  world.  He  could  have  made  you  very  rich,  but 
he  would  not,  lest  you  be  spoiled  thereby.  'My  son,' 
said  he,  'shall  never  inherit  from  me  more  than  enough 
to  keep  him  from  actual  want.  If  he  desires  wealth, 
he  must  acquire  it  by  his  own  industry.  A  man  should 
never  possess  more  than  he  can  save  as  a  result  of 


52  THE    PLAY   OF    FATE 

his  own  efforts  after  he  has  had  a  good  bringing  up 
by  his  parents;  and  this  they  are  in  duty  bound  to  give 
him,  but  nothing  more.'  So  said  your  noble  and  es- 
timable father." 

"Yes,"  said  the  boy,  "I  understand  clearly  my  fa- 
ther's intentions,  and  have  no  doubt  they  were  for  my 
benefit.  But  when  he  did  not  succeed  in  completing 
that  bringing  up,  a  duty  he  confessed  himself  bound 
to  perform  toward  me,  why  did  he  not,  at  his  death, 
give  my  mother  the  means  therefor?" 

"Without  doubt  he  so  intended,  my  child,  but  fort- 
une willed  it  that  your  father  should  die  very  sudden- 
ly; that  in  the  full  bloom  of  his  manhood  he  should 
fall  by  a  frightful  accident  Thus  he  had  no  time  to 
make  a  provision  for  our  maintenance,  and  we  were 
in  a  short  time  destitute,  as  you  know." 

"And  we  now  have  nothing  more  than  the  little  you 
can  earn,  good  mother.  We  must  often  freeze  and 
starve,  while  my  rich  brother  has  everything  in  pro- 
fusion. It  is,  nevertheless,  hard." 

"Be  of  good  cheer,  my  Maurits.  Relief  will  come 
sooner  or  later,  though  it  may  sometimes  look  dark 
and  discouraging.  God  will  not  abandon  us  if  we  pray 
to  him  and  put  our  trust  in  him,  and,  although  we 
are  now  poor,  let  us  still  hope  that  you  may  one  day 
be  all  your  noble  father  could  wish,  a  good,  a  happy, 
and  by  your  own  efforts,  an  independent  man.  " 

"I  am,  then,  not  to  know  my  right  name  until  I  am 
twenty  years  old?"  said  Maurits. 

Mrs.  Sterner  rose,  and  with  unsteady  step  reached 
the  bureau,  opened  a  drawer,  and  from  it  took  a  sealed 
package. 

"Maurits,"  said  she,  when  she  had  regained  her  place 
before  the  fire,  "this  packet,  which  you  are  given  au- 


MOTHER    AND    SON  53 

thority  to  open  when  you  reach  your  twentieth  birth- 
da)',  contains  the  evidences  of  your  birth,  together  with 
a  communication  to  you  from  your  father.  He  sealed 
it  himself,  and  left  it  in  my  hands  to  guard.  'If  I  am 
still  alive  at  that  time,'  said  he,  'these  papers  are  un- 
necessary. But  if  I  am  dead,  my  son  will  be  able,  by 
their  means,  to  establish  his  birthright,  and  to  assume 
the  name  that  belongs  to  him. '  When  I  die,  Maurits," 
added  Mrs.  Sterner,  "you  must  take  the  packet  into 
your  keeping,  and  I  am  satisfied  that  you  cherish  a 
sufficient  love  and  veneration  for  your  parents'  memory, 
not  to  break  the  seal  before  the  appointed  time." 

"Certainly  not,  mother,"  answered  the  boy,  eyeing 
the  mysterious  packet  with  childish  curiosity.  'But 
why  did  my  father  wish  me  not  to  take  his  name  be- 
fore my  twentieth  year?" 

"I  have  already  informed  you  that  your  father  de- 
sired you  should  have  a  plain  and  simple  bringing  up; 
that  he  wished  you  to  grow  up  in  the  belief  that  you 
possessed  nothing,  and  could  have  no  more  than  you 
could  earn  for  yourself  by  your  industry  and  frugality. 
He  feared  that  should  you  be  made  aware  you  are  the 
son  of  a  rich  man,  you  would  be  dissatisfied  and  ill  at 
ease  with  the  lot  he  had  designed  for  you;  that  you 
would  become  envious,  imprudent,  and  reckless,  with 
the  prospect  before  you  that  your  father's  death  would 
assure  you  an  abundance,  and  remove  all  necessity  for 
exertion  on  your  part.  That  was  one  of  the  reasons 
why  he  would  keep  from  you  your  right  name  until 
you  had  reached  an  age  when,  with  ripe  understand- 
ing, and  calm  scrutiny,  you  could  weigh  and  choose 
for  yourself  what  seemed  to  you  best." 

"Then  my  father  desired  that  I  should  not  know  I 
am  the  son  of  a  rich  man?:> 


54  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"That  was  his  wish." 

"Then  why  have  you  told  me?" 

"Because,  since  your  father  is  dead,  it  can  do  you 
no  harm.  You  can  no  longer  be  carried  away  by  the 
foolish  hopes  and  expectations  from  which  he  sought 
to  withhold  you,  knowing  your  father's  property  has  all 
gone  to  your  brother,  for,  even  if  you  should,  at  some 
future  time,  make  known  your  birthright,  you  could 
get  only  so  much  as  your  brother  felt  disposed  to  be- 
stow upon  you  as  a  gift.  The  estate  he  inherited  is, 
so  to  speak,  of  that  character  that,  according  to  law, 
it  falls  to  the  elder  son.  The  younger  receives  noth- 
ing, unless  the  will  of  the  deceased  so  specifies.  Your 
father,  as  I  have  already  said,  did  not  make  a  special 
will,  because  he  died  so  suddenly  that  he  had  no  op- 
portunity, even  if  he  would  have  done  so.  Thus  you 
are,  and  must  remain,  without  inheritance,  my  little 
boy. " 

"But  that  is  an  unjust  law  that  makes  one  brother 
rich  and  the  other  poor,"  remonstrated  Maurits. 

"Very  true,  my  child;  it  is,  without  doubt,  one  of 
the  most  unreasonable  laws  that  has  ever  been  enacted ; 
but  we  can't  help  it,  and  it  being  so,  I  hope  my  son 
possesses  enough  pride  and  strength  never  to  beg  from 
another  the  bread  he  ought  to  procure  for  himself. " 

"Never,  mamma,"  cried  the  little  boy  resolutely; 
"that  I'll  never  do.  I  shall  work  and  be  diligent  in 
my  studies  so  that  I  may  soon  go  as  a  student  to 
Upsala.  With  an  education,  I  can  make  my  way. 
Be  assured,  mother,  I  shall  never  ask  my  brother  for 
the  least  assistance,  even  if  I  come  to  know  his  name. 
I  shall  regard  it  an  honor  to  struggle  for  myself,  as 
my  good  father  wished  me  to  do." 

"Do  so,  my  son,"  said  the  mother  with  feeling.      "If 


MOTHER    AND    SON  55 

I  am  permitted  to  live,  and  regain  my  health,  you 
shall  not  want  while  you  are  with  me.  And  in  the 
matter  of  your  education,  Pastor  Bergholm  says  it  will 
not  be  necessary  for  you  to  go  to  school;  that  he  will 
teach  you  all  that  is  required  for  an  academy  course, 
and  when  that  time  comes,  which  will  not  be  sooner 
than  seven  or  eight  years,  I  hope  to  be  able  to  give 
you  a  little  assistance,  if  my  life  is  spared." 

"You,  mamma!  " 

"Yes,  I  have  a  small  sum  laid  aside  on  my  son's  ac- 
count,"  answered  Mrs.  Sterner.  "When  your  father 
died,  and  we  were  compelled  to  move  to  this  little 
hut,  I  gathered  up  the  most  costly  of  the  trinkets  I 
had  received  from  him,  took  them  to  the  nearest  city 
and  sold  them.  A  portion  of  this  money  I  have  al- 
ready used  in  our  support;  but  the  greater  portion  I 
spared  for  certain  purposes,  and  notwithstanding  all 
the  afflictions  we  have  experienced,  the  want  against 
which  we  have  had  to  battle,  I  have  not  touched  so 
much  as  a  shilling  of  that  little  treasure,  nor  will  I 
do  so.  It  is  the  only  inheritance  I  can  leave  you, 
Maurits. " 

"My  good,  my  dear  mother, "  said  the  boy,  with  tears 
of  gratitude,  "how  much  you  do  for  me  In  order  to 
help  me  at  some  future  time  you  will  endure  trials, 
hunger,  and  cold.  But  you  have  never  said  anything  to 
me  about  this  saving." 

"No,  but  as  we  have  this  evening  talked  about  our 
troubles  and  sufferings,  I  wish  to  give  you  a  little  en- 
couragement for  the  future.  At  first  I  thought  to  em- 
ploy this  money  to  help  you  through  some  school,  but 
the  generous  Pastor  Bergholm — God  reward  him!— un- 
dertook, so  willingly,  to  give  you  instructions,  without 
compensation,  that  I  determined  to  spare  it  until  the 


56  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

time  arrives  when  you  must  go  to  the  academy.  But 
the  fire  will  soon  be  burned  out.  Put  some  potatoes 
in  the  ashes,  then  we  will  sup  and  go  to  rest." 

Maurits  took  a  few  of  the  remaining  potatoes  from 
a  measure  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  laid  them  in  the 
ashes,  then  poured  a  portion  of  the  warm  soup  he  had 
made  into  one  of  the  before-mentioned  tea-cups,  and 
with  a  piece  of  coarse  bread,  which  he  took  from  the 
cupboard,  gave  it  to  his  mother. 

"Now,  mother,  you  shall  eat  your  supper.  I'll  wait 
till  the  potatoes  are  ready." 

"By  no  means,  my  child.  Take  the  other  cup  and 
drink  the  soup  that  remains  in  the  pan.  You  need 
something  warm,  having  been  out  in  the  cold  rain." 

"No,  mother.  What  is  left,  you  must  have  for  your 
dinner  to-morrow  with  the  meat.  Remember  that  at 
present  we  have  nothing  else  to  eat  besides  bread  and 
a  few  potatoes.  With  the  latter,  I'll  get  along  well 
enough  until  you  are  well  and  can  work  again.  But 
the  soup  I  shall  warm  for  you  to-morrow." 

"Do  as  I  bid  you,  my  good  child,"  said  Mrs.  Sterner, 
deeply  moved  at  the  new  evidence  of  her  darling's 
affection.  "Take,  at  least,  a  little  of  the  soup.  There 
will  be  some  provision  for  morning.  And  more,  I  hope 
to  be  well  enough  to  finish  those  shirts  for  the  In- 
spector of  Odensvik.  I  shall  then  get  a  little  money 
with  which  to  buy  meat  and  herrings." 

"But,  mother,  if  you  continue  to  be  ill,  there  is 
nothing  with  which  to  revive  your  strength.  Let  me, 
as  I  am  young  and  well,  eat  the  bread  and  potatoes, 
until  I  see  that  you  are  fully  recovered.  I  assure  you 
that  I  would  gladly  go  to  bed  hungry  for  your  sake  " 

This  touching  contention  between  mother  and  son 
continued  for  some  time,  and  it  was  not  until  Mrs. 


MOTHER    AND    SON  57 

Sterner  had  commanded  him,  that  Maurits  was  pre- 
vailed upon  to  eat  a  few  spoonfuls  of  the  soup.  He 
then  raked  the  potatoes  from  the  ashes,  and  ate  them 
with  some  salt  and  bread,  but  he  could  not  be  induced 
to  touch  the  piece  of  meat,  for  this  was  all  that  re- 
mained for  his  mother's  nourishment  during  the  com- 
ing day. 

"So,  I  am  quite  satisfied,  mother,"  said  he  at  the 
conclusion  of  his  meal.  "Now  I'll  prepare  the  bed  so 
that  you  may  lie  comfortably.  You  have  no  other 
chambermaid  than  your  little  Maurits.  Poor  mamma!" 

The  boy  approached  the  bed  and  put  it  in  order, 
thereafter  prepared  his  own  upon  the  sofa  that  stood 
against  the  opposite  wall,  and,  having  repeated  aloud 
an  evening  prayer,  mother  and  son  retired  to  rest  and 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  III 

PASTOR      BERGHOLM 

The  following  morning  Maurits  was  up  with  the 
sun.  His  mother  still  slept.  The  boy  went  quietly 
to  the  little  book-shelf  hanging  over  the  bureau,  took 
therefrom  several  books,  and  seated  himself  at  the 
table,  where  he  began  to  study  industriously,  at  which 
he  continued  two  or  more  hours. 

At  nine  o'clock,  ne  was  due  at  the  parsonage,  where 
the  good  pastor  gave  him  instruction  in  various 
branches  of  learning,  and  as  Maurits  loved  his  teacher, 
and,  moreover,  found  the  greatest  pleasure  in  his 
studies,  he  was  anxious  always  to  master  his  tasks,  and 
never  to  miss  his  lessons. 

• 

The  hut  in  which  Mrs.  Sterner  dwelt  with  her  son, 
was  situated  a  little  distance  from  a  small  hamlet  on 
the  estate  of  Odensvik,  a  large  domain  belonging  to 
Count  Stjernekrantz.  At  one  end  of  this  hamlet  was 
the  parsonage,  called  Brotorp,  a  little,  red-painted, 
one-story  house,  surrounded  by  a  few  birch  and  cherry 
trees.  Here  it  was  that  Maurits'  teacher,  Pastor  Berg- 
holm,  resided.  Pastor  Bergholm  was  a  man  about 
fifty  years  old,  known  and  respected,  far  and  wide,  as 
much  for  his  gentle  manners,  as  for  his  extended 
learning  in  nearly  all  branches  of  science.  There  was 
in  all  Sweden  scarcely  a  minister  who  could  measure 
himself  with  the  good  pastor  in  knowledge. 

58 


PASTOR   BERGHOLM  59 

He  was  a  great  historian,  a  profound  theologian, 
thoroughly  familiar  with  mathematics  and  philosophy, 
and,  above  all,  deeply  versed  in  classical  literature- 
The  poets  of  Rome  and  Greece,  the  historian  and 
thinker,  all  had  opened  their  treasure  chambers  to 
the  poor  parson.  They  had  transported  him  into  a 
world  of  brightness  and  beauty  in  which  he  sough1 
and  found  consolation  for  all  the  bitter  disappoint- 
ments and  adversities  with  which  the  present  seemed 
to  flood  him. 

He  also  employed  every  hour  he  could  steal  from 
his  duties  in  further  sounding  the  unfathomable  ocean 
of  science,  and  he  regarded  every  day  lest  of  which 
he  was  unable  to  get  a  few  hours  for  study.  In  fact, 
he  lived  only  when  he  was  studying.  Household  mat- 
ters and  economic  cares  were  to  the  poor  scholar  heavy 
chains  that  retarded  the  flight  of  his  soul;  therefore, 
he  turned  from  them,  and  made  his  escape  whenever 
it  was  possible.  Meantime,  he  often,  nevertheless, 
was  made  to  feel  their  pressure,  for  Pastor  Bergholm 
had  a  large  household  to  maintain  upon  his  small  in- 
come. His  family  consisted  of  a  wife  and  five  chil- 
dren, of  whom  the  oldest  was  not  more  than  twelve 
years  of  age,  the  pastor  having  married  quite  late  in 
life. 

Pastor  Bergholm  was  one  of  those  unfortunate  be- 
ings who  seemed  to  calculate  amiss  in  all  his  under- 
takings. Many  times  he  was  thought  to  be  on  the  eve 
of  promotion  to  a  lucrative  holding,  but  he  always 
failed  for  want  of  necessary  endorsement.  He  did  not 
understand  the  necessity,  or  how  to  ingratiate  himself 
with  the  powers  that  be,  and  believed,  with  childish 
simplicity,  that  merit  required  no  recommendations 
to  pave  its  way  to  betterment.  Nor  could  he  humble 


60  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

himself  to  bend  the  knee  to  his  superiors.  Thus  he 
was  left  in  his  obscure  position.  And,  although  he 
won  the  highest  honors  in  his  examinations,  and  was 
universally  acknowledged  as  a  sincere  and  upright 
man,  he  continued  a  mere  parish  priest  with  only  the 
small  income  of  fifty  bushels  of  grain  a  year. 

Depressed,  on  account  of  these  adversities,  the  par- 
son had  determined  to  remain  where  he  was  and  allow 
his  more  fortunate  brothers  of  the  cloth  to  strive  after 
the  crumbs  if  they  wished. 

This  determination  he  persisted  in  with  firmness, 
in  spite  of  Madame  Bergholm's  zealous  and  assiduous 
exhortations.  The  pastor  was  in  all  else  ready  to 
yield  to  his  wife.  He  allowed  her  to  manage  the 
household  affairs  just  as  it  pleased  her,  glad  to  shift 
the  whole  of  the  heavy  burden  to  her  shoulders;  but 
as  often  as  she  urged  him  to  put  in  an  application  for 
a  pastorate,  he  ejaculated  a  decisive,  no! 

The  wife  wept,  screamed,  stamped  the  floor,  and 
asked  her  husband  if  he  intended  to  starve  himself, 
his  wife  and  their  children  in  this  abominable  hole. 
She  discoursed  on  all  the  drudgery  and  care  imposed 
upon  her  in  the  effort  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door, 
while  he  did  nothing  but  sit  and  hang  over  his  old 
Latin  volumes,  which  had  never,  thus  far,  brought  him 
a.  shilling,  and  she  swore  finally,  to  apply  for  a  divorce 
if  he  could  not  be  persuaded  to  seek  better  emplo}'- 
ment. 

"Wife,"  said  the  pastor,  on  one  of  these  occasions, 
which  occurred  every  time  Madame  Bergholm  heard 
that  a  pastorate  was  vacant — "Wife,  I  have  made 
many  efforts,  that  you  know,  but  our  Lord  seems  to 
be  unwilling  that  I  should  leave  this  place  where  I 
have  dwelt  for  more  than  twenty  years,  and  I  am  sure 


PASTOR    BERGHOLM  6l 

it  will  be  unavailing  for  me  to  try  any  longer;  there- 
fore, be  content  with  what  we  have.  Be  patient, 
Brita. " 

"Patient,"  shrieked  the  wife  in  a  rage,  "you  prate 
of  nothing  but  patience  and  patience,  while  your  poor 
wife  must  live  in  continual  tribulation.  "  And  now  fol- 
lowed a  storm  of  words  upon  which  it  was  impossible 
to  put  a  check,  and  which  the  poor  pastor  could  not 
escape  by  other  means  than  stopping  his  ears  with  his 
fingers,  and,  with  the  utmost  haste,  dashing  upstairs 
to  his  little  attic,  locking  the  door  behind  him. 

Chased  to  this  refuge,  he  soon  forgot  all  the  morti- 
fication he  had  endured,  for  he  hastened  to  take  down 
from  a  shelf  the  work  of  one  of  the  classical  authors 
and  buried  himself  in  his  reading. 

Pastor  Bergholm  was  regarded  as  a  quaint  body. 
Together  with  his  absent  mindedness,  so  common 
among  scholars,  he  went  about  matters  of  practical 
life  in  a  most  awkward  manner,  and,  notwithstanding 
his  high  character  and  unostentatiousness,  he  gave  his 
parishioners  numerous  occasions  for  a  smile. 

Many  stories  were  related  in  the  neighborhood  about 
him.  Once  at  a  baptism  he  turned  the  child  up  end 
down;  another  time  he  was  found  on  his  way  to  church 
with  Cicero's  Epistcl<z  under  his  arm  instead  of  his 
prayer  book.  One  time  he  even,  when  offering  prayer 
for  a  woman  in  child-bed,  read  the  prayer  usually  read 
to  the  criminal  about  to  be  hanged.  The  poor  woman 
was  sorely  troubled  when  the  priest,  with  his  deep 
voice,  asked  the  regulation,  "Do  you  acknowledge, 
that  with  your  grave  sins,  you  have  sorely  angered 
God's  congregatipn;"  and  he  was  only  checked  by  one 
of  his  audience  calling  attention  to  the  mistake  by  a, 
tug  at  his  coat. 


62  THK    I'l.AV    OF    FATK 

But  with  all  this,  Pastor  Bergholm  was  held  in  high 
esteem  by  his  parishioners.  Trie  wealthy  owners  of 
the  many  surrounding  estates  paid  little  attention  to 
him,  and  the  little  they  did  pay  him  was  now  and 
then,  to  his  great  surprise,  to  invite  him  to  their 
Christmas  festivities,  or  once  or  twice  a  year  to  hear 
him  preach  in  the  parish  church.  This,  however, 
only  tended  to  put  him  on  a  better  footing  with  the 
poor  people.  He  had  set  aside  a  certain  hour  each 
day  when  he  would  receive  them,  on  which  occasions 
the  scholar  was  the  simple  man  of  the  people.  No 
unfortunate  went  from  the  parsonage  without  having 
received  all  the  help  and  comfort  the  good  man  could 
bestow.  No  penitent  and  heavily  burdened  sinner  ap- 
proached him  that  he  did  not,  with  his  mild  fatherly 
words,  his  friendly  and  deep  love,  apply  balsam  to  the 
wounded  heart;  therefore>  he  was  loved  by  all  the 
suffering  and  sorrowing;  therefore  it  was  that  his 
name  was  blessed  in  many  a  poor  hut  by  the  little 
children  who,  but  for  him,  must  have  many  times  ex- 
perienced the  pangs  of  hunger.  Thus  his  distractions 
were  easily  overlooked,  and  his  awkwardness  and 
often  ludicrous  manners,  at  which  one  could  not  help 
laughing  but  never  without  adding:  "He  is,  at  all 
events,  a  good  soul.  God  bless  him." 

Such  was  the  priest  who  had  taken  upon  himself  to 
conduct  Maurits  in  his  lessons.  It  was  about  two 
years  before  the  opening  of  this  story,  when  one  beau- 
tiful morning  a  poorly,  but  neatly  clad  woman,  lead- 
ing a  child  by  the  hand,  presented  herself  at  the  door 
of  the  parsonage,  and  asked  to  see  the  pastor. 

She  was  conducted  to  his  study  where  he  was  found 
clad  in  an  old  and  very  much  worn  coat,  which  had 
done  service  since  his  student  days,  and  was  now  used 
as  a  study  gown. 


PASTOR   BERGHOLM  63 

The  pastor  pushed  his  books  aside  at  her  entrance, 
and  for  some  seconds  scanned  his  visitor,  who,  upon 
crossing  the  threshold,  had  paused  and  was  standing 
meekly  by  the  door. 

"Herr  Pastor,"  said  she,  with  trembling  voice,  "it 
has  been  told  me  that  you  are  very  kind  and  generous; 
that  you  never  send  away,  uncomforted,  those  who 
come  to  you  in  distress,  therefore  I  am  come." 

"Speak,  woman,"  said  the  pastor,  returning  from  the 
world  of  fancy  in  which  he  had  been  wandering, 
"speak!  What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

The  poor  mother  unbosomed  herself  to  him.  She 
informed  him  that  she  resided  a  few  miles  distant  in 
a  pretty  house  for  which  her  husband  had  paid  the 
rent;  that  sne  had  lived  there  happily  employed  with 
the  bringing  up  of  a  son,  for  whom  the  father  had 
procured  a  teacher.  But  her  husband  had  died  sud- 
denly in  a  foreign  land,  leaving  her  on  the  verge  of 
poverty. 

"For  my  own  part,"  continued  she,  "I  can  work  and 
thereby  obtain  the  necessary  food  for  myself  and  my 
son,  but  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do  with  re- 
gard to  my  son's  education,  for  the  little  money  I  have 
remaining  from  the  sale  of  my  articles  of  luxury  pos- 
sessed by  me  at  my  husband's  death,  is  insufficient  for 
the  expenses  of  a  school.  Wherefore  I  have  sought 
your  advice." 

"What  is  your  name?"  asked  the  pastor,  moved  by 
the  woman's  tears. 

"My  name,"  said  she,  trembling, "permit  me  to  with- 
hold from  you  my  correct  name.  I  am  not  free  to 
reveal  it." 

"How!     Not  free  to  reveal  your  name?" 

"Ah,  dear  sir,"  proceeded  the  poor  woman,  sobbing, 


64  THE    PLAY    OF     FATE 

"I  beg  you    by  all    that  is  holy,  do    not  ask    me  what 
my  name  .is.      I  must  not  reveal  it." 

"Your  son  is  the.n  a  bastard?" 

"O,  my  God,  even  this!"  murmured  the  unhappy 
visitor,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands  in  despair. 

"A  bastard!  "  cried  she.  "No,  no,  do  not  think  that. 
I  swear  to  you  that  he  was  born  in  lawful  wedlock. 
But,  Herr  Pastor,  you  know  there  can  be  secrets  that 
are  holy;  there  can  be  promises  whose  violation  can  be 
a  sin  in  the  eyes  of  God,  a  crime  against  the  memory 
of  a  loved  one  who  rests  in  his  grave.  Believe  me, 
I  must  not  divulge  my  husband's  name,  because  he 
has  forbidden  it,  and  dishonor  may  fall  upon  me  be- 
fore I  will  break  my  promise." 

"Your  marriage,  then,  was  what  we  call  a  secret 
wedlock?"  interrupted  the  pastor. 

"Yes,  yes,  it  was  secret.  But  I  have  in  my  posses- 
sion, nevertheless,  evidences  of  its  legality.  Some- 
time, if  I  live  so  long,  I  shall  be  at  liberty  to  make  it 
public.  Until  then,-  I  must  be  resigned  to  my  lot — 
need,  wretchedness  and  despair.  God  has  so  willed." 

The  poor  woman  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
wept. 

Pastor  Bergholm  was  deeply  moved  by  this  mani- 
festation of  sorrow.  He  even  wiped  a  tear  from  his 
eye  and  regarded  the  poor  mother,  pleading  for  her 
son,  with  a  glance  of  heartfelt  compassion. 

There  was  about  the  young  and  beautiful,  though 
pale  and  wasted  woman,  an  expression  that  quite  ban- 
ished the  little  mistrust  that  the  pastor,  for  an  instant, 
entertained.  He  felt  himself  irresistibly  conquered  by 
her  grace,  her  sorrow  and  tears.  That  sorrow  must 
be  sincere,  thought  he,  she  cannot  dissimulate.  Her 
forehead  is  too  clear  for  that. 


PASTOR  BERGHOLM  65 

"Woman,"  said  he  finally,  "I  believe  you.  You  can- 
not lie,  and  I  know  for  the  rest  that  there  are  such 
things  as  secrets  which  one  must  respect.  I  promise  . 
to  respect  yours,  however  extraordinary  it  may  be.  I 
will,  therefore,  gladly  assist  you  with  your  son's  edu- 
cation. Where  is  he?  " 

"He  remained  in  the   yard,  while  I    came  up  here." 

"Good!  I  am  poor,  that  you  know.  I  wish  it  were 
not  so,  that  I  might  help  you  otherwise  in  your  need; 
but  I  have  many  children  of  my  own,  with  a  wife  and 
a  very  small  income.  1  will  myself  undertake  the  in- 
struction of  your  son  together  with  that  of  my  own 
boy,  if  you  will  fix  your  residence  near  me  here.  It 
would  cost  too  much  to  send  him  to  a  school." 

;'O,  my  God!  You  yourself  will  teach  him,  Herr 
Pastor!  How  shall  I  ever  repay  you  for  such  kind- 
ness?" 

"Your  son  shall  receive  instruction  without  pa)7, " 
answered  the  priest.  "If  I  am  allowed  to  live,  and  he 
conducts  himself  well,  and  is  attentive,  I  will  prepare 
him  for  the  academy." 

"God  bless  you,  noble  man!  "   exclaimed  the  mother 
with  tears  of  gratitude.    ''You  have  lifted  a  heavy  bur 
den  from  my  heart,  for  I  should  have  been  so  unhap- 
py if  my  poverty  had  made  it  necessary  that  my  son's 
studies  must  cease." 

'Good,  good!  But  one  thing  more.  Where  will 
you  live?" 

"Ah,  I  do  not  yet  know.  If  I  could  find  a  little  cot- 
tage in  this  neighborhood,  I  should  be  immeasurably 
happy.  I  could,  without  difficulty,  I  believe,  earn  our 
support." 

"I'll  procure  you  such  a  place,"  interrupted  the 
priest.  "There  is  such  a  one  near  here  unoccupied. 


66  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

It  is,  to  be  sure,  very  much  out  of  repair,  but  I  think, 
notwithstanding,  that  the  inside  will  be  found  habita- 
ble and  not  cold.  Will  you  have  it?" 

"O,  Herr  Pastor,  my  lasting  thanks. 

"The  cottage,"  interrupted  the  pastor,  "belongs  to 
the  present  owner  of  the  estate  of  Odensvik." 

"Odensvik!"  cried  she  trembling,  "shall  I  live  upon 
the  estate  of  Odensvik?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  priest,  without  having  observed  her 
emotion.  "Odensvik  is  at  present  owned  by  the  young 
Count  Stjernekrantz,  and  was  recently  inherited  from 
his  father,  who,  we  are  informed,  died  in  a  foreign 
land.  The  count  is  not  at  home.  He  has  gone  to 
Italy  to  dispel  his  grief,  they  say.  Meanwhile,  I'll 
arrange  the  matter  with  his  steward,  with  whom  1  am 
acquainted.  I  believe  it  will  be  possible  to  secure  it 
for  a  few  riks-dollars  a  year." 

"Must  it  come  to  this?"  muttered  the  wretched  wo 
man.      "Must  I  live  in  a  house  on  the  estate  of  Odens- 
vik?   What  a  play  of  fate!" 

"Are  you  not  pleased  with  my  proposition,  woman?" 
asked  the  priest. 

"Yes,  Herr  Pastor.     God  bless  you!" 

"Very  good.  What  kind  of  work  can  you  do  that 
will  earn  your  bread?" 

"I  can  sew,  weave,  and  spin.  God  grant  that  I 
may  find  some  such  employment." 

"I'll  procure  work  for  you.  There  are  many  estates 
hereabout,  and  the  need  of  a  competent  seamstress  has 
long  been  felt.  I  will  so  recommend  you  that  you  shall 
have  an  abundance  to  do.  To  begin  with,  you  may 
make  some  shirts  for  my  boy  which  my  wife  has  not 
had  time  to  do.  I  will  pay  you  for  your  work." 

"No,  no,  Herr  Pastor!     You    shall    not  pay    me.     I 


PASTOR  BERGHOLM  67 

will  sew  all  your  shirts  without  pay.  That  is  the 
least  I  can  do  since  you  have  shown  me  so  much  kind- 
ness. " 

"Hush!  I  will  pay  you,  I  say.  I  have  already  prom- 
ised to  instruct  your  son  without  consideration.  The 
shirts  are  another  matter.  Fetch  the  boy  now  that  I 
may  see  him. " 

The  mother  retired,  returning  in  a  short  time  lead- 
ing the  boy  by  the  hand. 

The  pastor  began  at  once  to  examine  the  child,  and 
was  more  than  pleased  with  his  quick  and  compre- 
hensive answers,  as  well  as  with  his  lively  and  intel- 
ligent face, 

"That  is  good,  my  son,"  said  he.  "You  have  al- 
ready made  good  progress  in  your  studies,  I  see. 
What  is  your  name?" 

"Maurits, "  answered  the  boy. 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"Eight  years. " 

'  Good,  my  dear  Maurits.  I  have  just  promised  your 
mother  to  become  your  guide  and  teacher.  Would  you 
be  willing  to  read  for  me?" 

"Ah,  yes,  I  am  very  fond  of  reading." 

"Excellent!  excellent!  We  shall  go  through  the 
classics  together,  my  boy.  That  will  be  a  pleasure; 
but  you  must  be  very  industrious.  You  cannot  yet 
have  gone  so  far  as  the  rudiments,  but  in  a  few  years, 
if  we  are  permitted  to  live,  we  shall  read  Virgil,  Taci- 
tus, and  Lucretius.  You  do  not  yet  know  them  by 
name,  I  dare  say,  but  T  will  make  you  acquainted 
with  them.  Depend  upon  it." 

"You  are  indeed  kind,  Herr  Pastor,"  said  the  moth- 
er, much  moved. 

"One  thing  more,"  continued   the  priest.     "The  boy 


68  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

must  have  some  additional  name.  What  has  he  thus 
far  been  called?" 

"He  has  had  no  other  name  than  the  one  I  myself 
bore  from  my  father,  who  was  a  gardener  named 
Johansson. " 

"Indeed!  "  said  the  pastor.  "Johansson  is  surely  a 
good  name,  that  is  not  to  be  disputed,  but  it  is  too 
vulgar.  My  little  disciple  must  have  a  pretty  name. 
What  do  you  say?" 

"Ah,  yes,  Hefr  Pastor,   think  up  one." 

"Let  me  see,"  said  he,  pondering,  "could  we  not 
call  him  Sterner?  In  my  boyhood  I  had  a  much-loved 
friend  so  named." 

"Indeed,"  said  the  woman  with  feeling,  "that  is  a 
very  pretty  name.  Sterner  signifies  star,  Herr  Pastor." 

"Yes,  so  it  does,  and  he  will  be  a  little  star,  let  us 
hope.  Well,  what  do  you  say?" 

"Let  us  call  him  Sterner,  then.  I  will  also  take 
the  name,  in  order  that  mine  shall  not  differ  from  that 
of  my  son. " 

So  this  matter  was  settled,  and  Maurits  Sterner,  with 
his  mother,  moved  the  next  day  into  the  aforemen- 
tioned little  dwelling.  The  good  pastor  was  faithful 
to  the  promise  given  the  mother  of  the  boy.  Through 
his  recommendations,  the  widow  received  an  abundance 
of  employment  from  the  neighboring  gentry,  and  was 
thereby  enabled  to  earn  enough  to  keep  herself  and 
her  son  fairly  provided  with  the  necessaries  of  life, 
while  the  latter  went  daily  to  the  parsonage  to  pursue 
his  studies. 

Naturally,  the  people  of  the  neighborhood  indulged 
in  many  speculations  and  guesses  regarding  Mrs. 
Sterner  and  her  son.  She  was  an  unsolvable  riddle 
to  them,  whose  earlier  history  they  tried  in  vain  to 


PASTOR   BERGHOLM  69 

unravel,  and  furnished  the  gossips  of  the  region  a 
never  failing  subject  of  conversation. 

The  belief  prevailed,  quite  generally,  that  Maurits 
was  a  "child  of  sin,"  the  product  of  an  unfortunate 
and  criminal  love,  and  that  the  mother,  now  deserted 
by  her  lover,  to  hide  her  shame  from  the  world,  had 
fled  to  a  remote  and  miserable  hut,  where  she  must 
support  herself  by  work. 

Meanwhile,  two  years  sped  away.  All  things  -grow 
old,  and  the  gossip  about  the  poor  woman  and  her 
child  had  begun  to  subside.  Moreover,  her  modest, 
unassuming  manners,  her  submissiveness,  coupled 
with  her  industry  and  expertness  as  a  seamstress,  had, 
by  degrees,  quieted  many  of  the  evil  tongues,  and  the 
diligent  occupant  of  the  hut  had  changed  from  an  ob- 
ject of  reproach  and  scorn  to  one  of  compassion  and 
interest.  And  how  could  she  other  than  awaken  an 
interest  in  the  nobler  and  more  generous  heart?  A 
mother  living  for  her  son  alone,  a  poor  forsaken  creat- 
ure with  such  a  meek,  soulful  face;  such  a  heavenly 
resignation  shining  from  her  dark  eyes?  That  woman 
whose  heart  pulsated  for  only  one;  who  possessed 
nothing  in  the  world  besides  her  darling,  for  whose 
sake  she  offered  up  her  days,  her  nights,  and  who 
though  manifestly  much  above  the  ordinary  peasant, 
must  pass  her  life  in  a  half  rotten  hut,  and  notwith- 
standing all  this,  never  asked  anyone  to  help  her  carry 
her  cross,  never  accepted  charity  if  proffered;  how 
could  she  other  than  become  an  object  of  great  curi- 
osity, many  speculations,  and  the  admiration  of  all? 

O,  it  had  indeed  been  cruel,  inhuman,  to  seek  to 
crush  that  unprotected  creature  who  possessed  noth- 
ing, to  oppose  in  her  defense.  Who  can,  without 
feeling,  see  a  mother  in  her  love  sacrificing  strength, 


JO  THE    PLAY   OF    FATE 

health,  life,  everything,  as  she  toils  through  the  slowly 
dragging  hours  of  night,  seeking  to  provide  the  bare 
necessities  of  life  for  the  object  of  her  love,  lying 
yonder  in  its  little  couch  surrounded  by  the  angels  of 
innocence?  Is  there  to  be  found  a  sight  more  charm- 
ing, a  purpose  more  holy,  anything  more  heavenly, 
more  Godlike  than  a  love  like  this? 

Mrs.  Sterner  never  received  visitors,  except  such  as 
came  from  the  neighboring  estates  to  bring  work,  or 
to  take  away  that  completed.  Her  fame  as  a  trust- 
worthy, quick,  and  competent  seamstress  had  gone 
far  and  wide,  and  so  long  as  she  was  well,  she  \vas 
never  in  want  of  employment.  On  the  contrary,  she 
usually  had  more  than  she  could  do. 

Her  only  caller,  except  those  who  came  on  business, 
was  Pastor  Bergholm.  The  noble  priest  found  gen- 
uine pleasure  in  that  little  hut,  sitting  before  the  fire 
on  an  autumn  or  winter  evening,  in  conversing  with 
the  woman  in  whom  he  discovered  a  rich  vein  of  love 
and  poetry.  That  she  had  been  well  reared  he  could 
not  doubt,  although  she  would  never  unbosom  herself 
to  anyone  concerning  her  early  life.  That  she  was 
the  daughter  of  a  gardener,  on  one  of  the  estates  of 
Southern  Sweden,  was  the  most  that  he  knew  with 
certainty,  about  her.  And  he  marveled  more  than 
once  over  the  excellent  tact,  the  good  breeding,  the 
culture  far  above  her  station  revealed  daily  in  these 
visits. 

Maurits,  in  the  meantime,  had  gained  high  place 
in  the  pastor's  favor.  In  this  child,  he  had  found  all 
that  he  could  have  wished  in  his  own  son;  all  the 
interest  in  his  studies,  the  disposition  and  reach  of 
soul  that  led  him  to  hope  he  would  one  day  do  his 
teacher  honor.  The  good  priest,  whose  own  son 


PASTOR  BERGHOLM  Jl 

showed  little  inclination  for  books,  but  on  the  con- 
trary a  great  deal  more  for  the  plane,  the  turning- 
lathe,  and  building  boats  and  such,  looked  forward 
with  keen  anticipation  to  the  day  when  the  industrious 
and  apt  Maurits  would  be  able  to  begin  reading  the 
classics,  and  with  corresponding  thought  and  sympathy 
imbibe  the  same  love,  the  same  admiration  for  the 
charming  literature  of  the  past,  as  he  who  had  found  in 
them  the  well-spring  of  his  most  delightful  pleasures, 
during  a  toilsome  life  that  had  been  seldom  brightened 
by  good  fortune. 

In  this  manner,  as  we  have  said,  two  years  had 
passed.  Count  Stjernekrantz,  owner  of  Odensvik,  con- 
tinued his  travels  abroad,  and  Mrs.  Sterner  lived  un- 
disturbed with  her  son  in  the  little  hut,  the  rent  for 
which  she  paid  by  sewing  shirts  and  other  garments 
for  the  steward  of  the  large  estate. 

During  these  two  years,  it  had  many  times  gone 
hard  with  Mrs.  Sterner  and  her  son,  but  no  great  need 
had  befallen  them  so  long  as  the  mother  remained 
well.  Her  health  had  been  impaired  not  a  little  by 
night  vigils  and  exertion,  however,  and  at  the  time 
our  story  begins  she  had,  as  we  have  seen,  been  com- 
pelled for  some  days  to  take  to  her  bed. 

It  would  not  have  been  difficult  for  Mrs.  Sterner  to 
have  procured  help  in  her  distress  from  the;  residents 
of  the  surrounding  estates,  for  whom  she  had  worked. 
Many  would  have  hastened,  gladly,  to  the  stricken 
woman,  and  proffered  her  every  assistance,  for,  as  has 
already  been  said,  she  had  awakened  in  man}'  hearts 
the  deepest  sympathy.  But  the  poor  woman  pos- 
sessed an  independence,  one  may  term  it  pride  if  he 
will,  that  would  not  allow  her  to  accept  the  slightest 
assistance  that  might  be  regarded  as  alms.  To  beg, 


72  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

to  be  under  obligations  to  others,  was  far  worse  to  her 
than  to  suffer  the  greatest  need.  "I  know  well,"  said 
she,  "that  the  time  may  come  when  I  and  my  son 
must  appeal  to  the  Christian  hearts  of  our  neighbors. 
When  it  does  come,  I  will  endure  it  with  becoming 
humility;  but  so  long  as  a  little  strength  remains  to 
me,  so  long  as  it  is  possible  to  escape  it,  I  shall  never 
beg.  I  shall  seek  a  maintenance  with  my  hands.  It 
is  my  duty.  Beggary  is  disgrace,  work  an  honor. " 

That  was  poverty's  pride.  It  was  a  mother's  pride 
that  her  son  should  sometime  say,  'Mother,  I  have  to 
thank  you  for  all  I  am  and  have.  " 

The  rich,  when  they  read  this  will  shrug  their  shoul- 
ders and  say,  "She  had  nothing  of  which  to  be  proud. 
A  poor  person  is  not  too  gocd  to  take  alms.  If  she 
sinks  she  must  accuse  herself.  Poverty  and  pride  are 
most  wretched  companions." 

Yes,  they  will  say  so,  for  the  rich  do  not  understand 
poverty  any  better  than  the  poor  comprehend  riches. 
Each,  therefore,  does  the  other  injustice.  We  ac- 
knowledge that.  But  where  is  the  greatest  injustice? 
We  ask  the  question  only. 

After  this  necessary  digression,  we  return  to  that 
October  morning  when  we  left  Maurits  a*,  the  table, 
bent  over  his  books,  studying  out  the  lessons  of  the 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   PUPIL 

It  was  a  cold  and  disagreeable  morning,  that  on 
which  we  left  Maurits  hard  at  work  at  his  lessons. 
The  sky  was  overcast  with  dark  clouds,  from  which  an 
icy  rain  was  falling. 

The  hour  was  about  half  past  eight  when  Maurits 
closed  his  books,  arose  and  upon  tiptoe  approached 
the  bedside  ot  his  sleeping  mother. 

Cautiously  he  drew  back  the.  bed-curtains,  and  with 
a  pure,  childish  love,  contemplated  the  face  that  was 
turned  toward  him,  lighted  by  a  half  smile  that  told 
him  his  mother  was  traveling  in  a  beautiful  dream, 
land. 

She  uttered  a  name  in  her  sleep.  It  was  his. 
"Maurits,  my  son!  '  these  were  the  sounds  that  crept 
over  the  slumberer's  smiling  lips. 

"She  is  thinking  of  me,  she  dreams  of  me,"  whis- 
pered the  boy  softly  to  himself.  ."O,  my  good,  my 
dear  mother!" 

He  stooped  a"nd  kissed  the  thin  white  hand  that 
hung  over  the  edge  of  the  bed,  then  falling  upon  his 
knees  at  the  foot  thereof,  clasped  his  hands  and  softly 
murmured  a  prayer:  "Good  God,  restore  my  mother 
to  health.  Let  her  again  be  well  and  cheerful,  and 
let  me  die  for  her." 

At  this  instant,  the  mother  moved  in  her  bed,  opened 
her  eyes  little  by  little,  and  slowly  returned  from  the 


74  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

kingdom  of  dreams.  A  heavenly  smile  flitted  across 
her  lips  at  the  scene  before  her.  She  saw  her  son, 
her  all  on  earth,  upon  his  knees  at  her  bedside,  in 
tears,  pleading  with  God  for  her  recovery. 

"Maurits,"  she  whispered  softly,  and  her  arms  were 
opened  to  clasp  the  little  boy,  who  at  once  nestled 
his  head  upon  her  breast. 

"How  do  you  feel  to-day,  mamma?"  asked  he,  after 
a  lengthy  silence,  during  which  mother  and  son  had 
held  each  other  in  close  embrace. 

"I  am  better,  my  little  boy,"  answered  Mrs.  Sterner 
with  feeble  voice,"  I  shall  soon  be  quite  well." 

The  poor  mother  told  a  falsehood  to  spare  her  son 
distress,  for  she  knew  herself  to  be  more  feeble  than 
the  day  before.  She  felt  the  fever  afresh  upon  her. 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  remain  home  with  you,  mam- 
ma?" continued  Maurits. 

"No,  my  child,  you  must  not  miss  your  lesson.  The 
pastor  would  be  displeased  if  you  should  stay  away. 
Go,  my  friend;  I  will  read  the  Bible  meanwhile,  since 
I  am  not  yet  strong  enough  to  work." 

"Won't    you  have  something  to  eat?" 

"No,  not  until  you  return  at  mid-day.  I  am  not  at 
all  hungry." 

'Good,  mamma!.  I  will  go  to  the  forest  again  this 
evening  and  get  some  wood  so  that  you  need  not  suffer 
from  cold.  And  so  I  will  do  every  day  until  you  are 
well  and  can  earn  money  with  which  to  buy  our  fuel. 
But  how  are  we  to  get  food,  mamma,  when  the  little 
we  now  have  is  gone?" 

"Do  not  be  distressed  about  that,  my  child,  there 
will  surely  be  some  way  of  providing.  Go  now,  that 
ypu  may  not  be  late  at  the  parsonage." 

Maurits  obeyed,  took  his  books,  and  departed  after 
once  more  kissing  his  mother's  hand. 


THE    PUPIL  75 

He  passed  through  the  lane  that  led  out  to  the 
broad  highway,  running  through  the  village,  at  one  end 
of  which,  as  has  been  mentioned,  Pastor  Bergholm's 
residence  was  situated. 

Before  the  boy  could  reach  the  village  he  must  pass 
a  bridge  spanning  a  swift  and  turbulent  stream  which 
at  no  great  distance  flowed  into  the  Wener. 

"Maurits!  Maurits!"  A  cry  was  heard  just  as  he 
set  his  foot  upon  the  bridge. 

He  looked  in  the  direction  whence  the  voice  came, 
and  upon  the  bank  of  the  stream,  between  two  elms, 
discovered  a  little  boy,  of  about  his  own  age,  eagerly 
engaged  with  a  bark  boat,  which  he  allowed  to  sail 
down  the  stream,  after  fastening  it  with  a  long  string, 
one  end  of  which  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"Bless  me!  Is  that  you,  Oscar?"  called  Maurits 
from  the  bridge.  "With  what  are  you  amusing  your- 
self?" 

"I  am  trying  my  new  boat,"  answered  Oscar  Berg- 
holm  cheerily.  "Come  here  and  you  shall  see  how 
nicely  she  floats.  Just  like  a  big  ship." 

"All  right,"  answered  Maurits,   "I'll    come." 

Springing  from  the  bridge,  he  leaped  over  the  fence 
and  was  soon  at  the  side  of  his  fellow-student. 

It  had  ceased  raining;  the  sky  had  begun  to  clear 
up,  and  now  and  then  a  ray  of  sunshine  shot  through 
the  sundered  clouds. 

"Ah!  see  the  sun!"  cried  Oscar,  clapping  his  hands 
in  joy.  "It  will  surely  be  nice  weather  now.  If  you 
will,  Maurits,  we  will  borrow  a  large  boat  from  the 
miller.  It  is  such  fun  to  row." 

"But  you  forget,"  interrupted  the  widow's  son,  "that 
we  ought  to  begin  our  exercises  at  the  parsonage  at 
nine  o'clock," 


76  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Ah,  that  is  true,"  said'Oscar  in  a  vexed  tone.  "One 
can  never  attempt  any  sport  but  those  stupid  lessons 
are  in  the  way.  Have  you  mastered  yours?" 

"Yes.      And  you?" 

"That  is  mean.  Papa  told  me  this  morning  that  I 
must  read  my  lessons  over  again,  and  that  if  I  failed 
in  them  a  second  time  I  must  stand  in  the  dunce's 
corner.  But  it  is  absolutely  impossible  to  understand 
the  rule  in  our  grammar  given  us  "for  to  day.  I  worked 
at  it  a  while,  but  tired  of  it,  and  ran  away  to  play 
with  my  boat.  What  shall  I  do  now,  wonder?" 

"I'll  explain  the  rule  to  you,  Oscar, "  replied  the  gen- 
erous Maurits,  "I  understand  it  perfectly,  and  before 
we  get  to  the  parsonage,  I  can  teach  it  to  you." 

"Thank  you.  But  were  it  not  better  if  I  could  es- 
cape the  lesson  to-day?  Do  you  know,  I  think  I'll 
jump  into  the  river  with  my  clothes  on,  and  say  that 
I  fell  in  by  accident." 

"Not  bad,"  said  Maurits,  "but  you  would  then  be 
put  to  bed  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  that  would  not 
be  so  funny.  Come,  that's  a  good 'fellow,  let  us  show 
ourselves  industrious  and  willing." 

'O,  if  I  could  only  get  out  of  that  Latin,"  sighed 
Oscar. 

"O,  Latin  is  so  nice." 

"Yes,  for  you  to  whom  all  things  are  so  easy,"  broke 
in  the  boy,  as  the  two  quit  the  river  and  started  on 
their  way  through  the  village,  "but  it  is  another  thing 
with  me,  who  can  learn  nothing." 

"My  dear  Oscar,  it  surprises  me  that  you  have  no 
inclination  for  study;  you,  the  son  of  such  a  learned 
man." 

Conversing  thus,  the  two  boys  had  reached  the 
market-place  of  the  village,  where  they  noticed  a 


THE    PUPIL  77 

throng  of  people  composed  of-all  ages  and  occupations, 
but  chiefly  of  women  and  children.  Soon  the  shrill 
tones  of  a  hand-organ  reached  their  ears.  Beside  him- 
self with  joy,  Oscar  hastened  forward,  and  elbowed  a 
passage  through  the  crowd  to  its  very  center,  while 
Maurits  calmly  pursued  his  way,  hardly  casting  a 
glance  at  the  object  of  his  comrade's  curiosity. 

"Maurits,  Maurits!"  shouted  Oscar  from  the  center 
of  the  crowd,  "he  has  a  monkey.  He  has  a  monkey 
that  does  tricks.  Come  here  and  see  him." 

That  was  something  new.  Maurits  could  not  re- 
member that  he  had  ever  seen  a  monkey,  and  curiosity 
for  once  got  the  upper  hand. 

"I  must,  at  the  least,  get  a  peep  at  him,  if  no  more," 
thought  Maurits;  "and  I  may  succeed  in  getting  Oscar 
away  from  the  throng,  or  he  will  forget  all  about  his 
lesson.  " 

The  boy  having  thus  decided  hurried  forward,  and 
had  soon  cleared  his  way  through  the  mass  to  the 
side  of  Oscar,  whom  he  found  eagerly  watching  the 
clever  tricks  and  graceful  movements  of  a  little  mon- 
key, tricked  out  in  a  red  frock,  a  neck-cloth,  and  a 
large,  loose,  paper  collar  around  his  throat,  and  a 
clown's  cap  upon  his  head. 

The  droll  little  animal  danced  to  the  tones  of  the 
organ,  which  was  turned  by  an  old  man  with  a  long 
gray  beard  reaching  quite  down  to  his  waist. 

"Oscar,"  said  Maurits,  when  he  had  vie,wed  the  spec- 
tacle a  few  minutes,  "we  must  go  now,  your  father 
awaits  us. " 

"Go  now!"  exclaimed  the  other  earnestly;  "no, 
thank  you,  I  shall  remain  here  awhile  yet  and  enjoy 
the  fun.  See  what  jumps  he  makes.  I  have  never 
seen  anything  so  funny.  Do  you  not  think  with  me?" 


78  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Yes,  but  we  may  see-  it  again  when  we  have  per- 
mission and  more  time." 

"Isn't  it  jolly?"  said  Oscar.  "See  how  he  starts  on 
his  rounds  among  the  people  with  his  hat!  O,  if  I 
only  had  something  to  drop  into  it!  " 

"The  young  gentleman  shall  have  his  wish,"  said 
an  old  peasant  who  stood  near  and  heard  Oscar's  words. 
"I  can  get  it  back  sometime." 

"Thanks!  thanks!  Father  Andres,"  cried  the  boy 
with  joy,  "you  shall  have  it  again  this  afternoon." 

The  organ-player  approached  the  two  boys,  standing 
beside  each  other,  and  stretched  forth  his  tattered 
hat. 

Oscar  carelessly  threw  his  copper  piece  into  the  hat, 
while  Maurits  scrutinized  the  meanly  attired  old  man. 

An  indistinct  recollection  flitted  through  the  boy's 
mind.  He  felt  that  he  had  seen  that  countenance  be- 
fore, or  one  that  resembled  it  very  much,  but  he  could 
not  remember  when  or  where. 

The  old  man,  nearing  Maurits,  regarded  him  sharp- 
ly, then  stretched  forth  his  hat  asking  for  alms. 

"Dear  father,"  said  the  boy,  somewhat  embarrassed, 
"I  am  very  sorry  that  I  have  nothing  to  give  you."' 

"Keep  in  mind  next  Friday  and  five  o'clock,  at  the 
stone  heap,"  muttered  the  organ-grinder  in  a  low  voice, 
passing  on. 

"It  is  he — it  is  the  red-head  who  carried  my  bundle 
of  sticks,"  thought  Maurits  in  surprise.  "But  how  in 
the  world  has  he  become  so  old  since  last  night?" 

The  boy  vainly  sought  an  explanation  of  the  extra- 
ordinary circumstance.  Meanwhile,  the  organ  grinder 
had  completed  his  round  and  began  now,  as  if  in 
thanks  for  the  coppers  he  had  received,  to  grind  out 
a  hideously  screaming  waltz  upon  the  miserable  in- 
strument. 


THE    PUPIL  79 

"Oscar,"-  said  Maurits,  pulling  his  comrade  by  the 
arm,  "I  am  now  determined  to  go;  will  you  follow 
me?" 

"No,  not  now.      Go  on,  I'll  come  soon." 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  say  to  your  father  if  he 
asks  after  you?" 

"Say  that  I  fell  down  and  have  hurt  myself." 

"Fie!  you  know  that  I  will  not  lie." 

"Very  well,  then  say  what  you  will,  but  leave  me  in 
peace.  See,  he  is  beginning  to  dance  again.1' 

When  Maurits  saw  that  he  could  not  persuade  his 
little  companion  to  accompany  him,  he  quit  the  place 
and  set  out  alone  to  the  parsonage. 

"Good  day,  my  son,"  said  the  pastor  when  the  boy 
entered  his  study,  where  he  found  his  teacher  plunged 
into  a  large  folio,  "howr  is  your  mother?" 

"Mamma  is  better  to-day,  thank  you." 

"That  is  good,  my  boy.  Have  you  learned  the  rules 
of  syntax  as  I  directed? " 

"Yes,  Herr  Pastor." 

"Good!  'Diligent ia  est  mater  doctrines,'  as  Lucretius 
very  aptly  expresses  it.  But  do  you  know  where  my 
Oscar  has  gone?" 

"Yes,  Herr  Pastor,  he  is  standing  down  in  the  vil- 
lage watching  an  organ-grinder." 

"An  organ-grinder!  And  such  vagabonds  are  found 
even  in  our  village!  That  boy  is  ever  ready  to  spend 
his  time  in  trifling." 

"But  the  organ-grinder, "  interrupted  Maurits,  "had 
a  monkey  with  him,  also,  that  dances  and  performs 
many  tricks.  A  very  cunning  little  fellow." 

"A  monkey,"  resumed  the  pastor;  "how  can  one  find 
pleasure  in  the  antics  of  such  a  creature!" 

"He  was  dressed  in  a  little  red  frock,  and  wore  up- 
on his  head  a  little  cap  trimmed  with  bells." 


80  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Bah!  my  boy!  Simia  est  simia,  aurea  gestet  insignia. 
But  we  must  now  read  a  piece  from  Cornelius,  while 
we  wait  for  my  son,  the  truant.  Think  you  he  has 
learned  his  lesson?" 

"I  do  not  know,  Herr  Pastor,  he  said  there  was  a 
rule  he  did  not  understand." 

"My  dear  Maurits, "  said  the  pastor,  "have  you  no 
cloak?" 

"No,   Herr  Pastor." 

"You  cannot  go  so  thinly  clad,  my  boy.  You  shall 
have  one  of  my  old  coats  that  my  wife  has  cast  aside 
as  useless.  It  can  be  changed  by  your  mother  when 
she  gets  well.  The  gift  is  not  great,  and  it  will  be 
useful  to  you. " 

"You  are  very  good,  my  dear  pastor,"  said  Maurits; 
"but  I  don't  know  that  mother  will  allow  me  to  take 
it." 

"Hush!  you  shall  take  the  coat,  I  say.  It  is  better 
that  you  should  have  it  than  that  it  should  hang  in 
the  store-room  to  be  devoured  by  moths.  Read  now, 
while  I  fill  my  pipe." 

Maurits  read  and  the  pastor  smoked,  by  times  look- 
ing through  the  window  to  see  if  he  could  descry  Oscar 
coming.  After  a  time,  a  heavy  step  was  heard  upon 
the  stairs.  The  door  opened  and  Mrs.  Bergholm  en- 
tered, dragging  the  reluctant  Oscar  by  the  hand. 
Mrs.  Bergholm,  in  figure,  was  the  exact  opposite  of 
her  husband.  The  latter  was  tall  and  lean,  moved 
with  great  deliberation,  and  spoke  slowly  and  with 
correct  enunciation.  The  wife,  on  the  contrary,  was 
short  and  thick,  had  a  shrill,  piping  voice, which, when 
angered,  went  to  a-  still  higher  key,  while  a  stream  of 
words,  impossible  to  check,  flowed  from  her  lips. 
Otherwise,  she  was  a  very  good-hearted  person,  and 


THE    PUPIL  8l 

an  exceedingly  good  housekeeper,  with  only  the  little 
failing,  that  she  would  never  restrain  her  violent  tem- 
per. 

An  occasion  for  the  exhibition  of  her  fury  was  now 
at  hand.  The  unfortunate  Oscar,  after  Maurits  parted 
from  him,  had  indulged  in  a  fisticuff  with  one  of  the 
peasant  .boys,  and  had  returned  home  with  his  clothes 
torn,  and  a  bloody  nose. 

"Bergholm!  '  screamed  the  little  woman  at  the  door, 
"I  say  to  you  that  this  boy  ought  to  be  whipped  for  a 
good-for-nothing.  Here  he  has  been  fighting  again 
with  Anders  Persson's  Olle,  and  has  had  a  tooth 
knocked  out,  and  you  sit  here  smoking  your  old  pipe 
and  reading,  never  inquiring  whether  your  child  has 
been  killed  by  the  vulgar  young  one.  Is  it  proper  that 
the  boy  should  be  allowed  to  run  off  in  this  manner 
without  my  knowledge?  Haven't  I  enough  to  do  with- 
out running  after  him?  Why  don't  you  punish  him 
when  he  is  disobedient?" 

"Hush!  woman!"  roared  the  pastor  in  great  distress, 
"and  leave  me  in  peace.  I  gave  Oscar  permission  to 
go  out.  He  should  have  been  here  at  nine  o'clock  to 
read,  but  he  has  remained  away  beyond  his  leave  to 
see  an  organ  grinder  and  a  monkey,  Maurits  has  in- 
formed me.  He  shall  be  punished  for  his  disobe- 
dience. Go  down  stairs  and  don't  scream  the  ears  off 
me. " 

After  a  few  more  effusions,  though  in  somewhat 
milder  tones,  Mrs  Bergholm  went  her  way,  leaving 
Oscar  in  the  chimney  corner. 

"Oscar,  come  here,"  said  the  pastor. 

Oscar  approached  his  father,  manifesting  no  fear, 
for  he  knew  that  his  parent  could  not  be  very  severe 
with  him. 


82  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Boy!"  exclaimed  the  pastor,  "you  have  again  dis- 
obeyed me.  Who  gave  you  permission  to  waste  your 
lesson  hour,  and  get  into  a  scuffle  with  Anders  Persson's 
Olle?  O,  finer,  infelix  et  scelerata!" 

"Anders  Persson's  Olle  kicked  the  poor  monkey, 
papa,"  replied  the  bo)',  "then  I  became  angry,  and 
slapped  his  face,  so  we  got  into  a  scuffle." 

''Ah,  so!"  said  the  pastor,  somewhat  pacified  by  the 
explanation.  "But  you  have  no  right  to  pass  judg- 
ment upon  the  acts  of  other  boys  of  the  village.  You 
could  have  laid  the  matter  before  Olle's  father,  who, 
no  doubt,  would  have  punished  his  son  sufficiently  for 
his  cruelty." 

"Anders  himself  was  present,  but  he  only  laughed 
at  Olle  when  he  kicked  the  monkey." 

"Hem,"  said  the  pastor.  "We  will  put  this  affair 
aside.  But  why  were  you  not  here  on  time,  and  not 
make  Maurits  and  me  wait  for  you?" 

"I  didn't  know  what  the  time  was.  ' 

• 

"A  poor  excuse,  boy.  You  might  have  come  home 
to  see. " 

"I  wanted  to  see  the  monkey.  He  was  so  amusing, 
and  had  on  a  pretty  little  frock,  just  like  yours." 

"Hm,  hm,"  said  the  pastor,  "my  frock  is  certainly 
old,  but  it  does  not  cover  the  back  of  a  monkey. 
Have  you  learned  your  lesson?" 

"Yes,  fairly  well." 

"Very  well,  let  us  hear  it.  If  you  can't  recite  it,  you 
shall  stand  in  the  dunce's  corner,  as  1  promised  you." 

The  lessons  were  now  heard,  and  it  was  found  that 
Maurits  was  perfect  in  his,  while  Oscar  stumbled  con- 
tinually, in  consequence  of  which  he  was  placed  in 
the  corner,  as  had  been  threatened,  while  the  pastor 
instructed  Maurits  in  Latin. 


THE   PUPIL  83 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  exercises,  Maurits  returned 
to  his  mother,  carrying  the  pastor's  old  coat  upon  his 
arm. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    PORCELAIN    CUPS 

A  few  days  had  passed,  but  Mrs.  Sterner  had  not 
yet  recovered.  On  the  contrary,  she  was  weaker, 
though  she  would  not  confess  it  to  her  son.  The  lat- 
ter went  every  evening  to  the  forest  and  brought  wood, 
so  that  the  occupants  of  the  hut  were  kept  from  suffer- 
ing cold.  There  was,  however,  another  visitor,  pale 
and  terrible,  that  approached  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
this  visitor  was  hunger.  For  a  whole  day  they  had 
subsisted  upon  a  single  bit  of  hard  bread  and  a  few 
potatoes.  In  vain  Maurits  pleaded  with  his  mother  to 
allow  him  to  lay  their  condition  before  the  good  pastor 
and  request  his  assistance. 

"No,  my  son,"  said  the  mother  feebly,  "yo.ur  teacher 
is  poor  and  has  many  mouths  to  feed.  We  must  not 
add  to  his  burdens  more  than  we  have  already  done." 

"But  you  will  die,  mother,"  urged  the  boy  mournful- 
ly, "if  you  do  not  get  some  strengthening  food.  You 
appear  very  ill  to-day." 

"My  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Sterner,  "there  is  yet  a  means 
left  us  to  procure  food." 

"What  is  it,  mamma?" 

"We  must  sell  the  two  porcelain  cups.  They  are 
very  valuable,  and  we  may,  perhaps,  get  several  riks- 
dollars  for  them." 

"The  two  cups  that  are  so  precious  to  you,  mamma, 

84 


THE  PORCELAIN   CUPS  85 

and  that  you  received  from  my  father?"  exclaimed  the 
boy.  "We  must  not  sell  them." 

"Yes,  Maurits,  there  is  no  other  recourse.  Those 
cups  are  very  precious  to  me,  God  knows!"  added  the 
poor  woman  with  a  sigh.  "Many  memories  cling  to 
them,  sweet,  holy  and  peaceful,  but  we  must  put  them 
aside,  my  son.  We  should  teach  ourselves  to  bear 
everything  if  God  so  wills  it." 

"But,  mamma,"  resumed  Maurits,  "you  said  you 
had  a  little  sum  of  money  laid  aside  on  my  account. 
Can  \ve  not  take  a  part  of  it  and  use  it  to  buy  bread 
and  meat?  We  should  not  sell  your  cups  while  we 
have  other  means  at  hand. " 

"No,  Maurits,  that  money  shall  never  be  touched 
until  you  need  it,"  answered  Mrs.  Sterner  emphatic- 
ally. "I  am  fully  determined  to  save  this  money  un- 
til then.  If  I  should  once  break  into  it,  I  may  be 
tempted  to  do  so  again  and  again,  until  nothing  re- 
mains. We  must,  therefore,  do  as  I  have  suggested. 
You  shall  yourself  sell  the  cups,  little  boy." 

"And  to  whom  shall  I  sell  them/'  asked  Maurits. 
"Shall  I  take  them  to  Odensvik?" 

"It  is  not  worth  while,  Maurits.  The  owner  of  the 
estate  is  not  at  home,  and  the  steward  will  surely  not 
buy  such  articles.  But  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  here 
lies,  as  you  know,  the  large  estate  of  Liljedahl.  Have 
you  ever  been  there?" 

"No,   mamma." 

"Well,  that  does  not  matter.  At  Liljedahl  lives  at 
present  an  old,  very  old,  baron  named  Ehrenstam. 
He  is  good  and  kind,  though  he  is  every  inch  an  aris- 
tocrat. " 

"Aristocrat!  What  is  that,  mamma?"  interrupted 
Maurits, 


86  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Do  you  not  know?  Very  well,  I  will  explain  it  to 
you  another  time. 

"Listen  further.  This  old  baron  is  a  great  lover  of 
elegant  articles  of  art,  whereof  he  has  a  beautiful  col- 
lection; but  he  has  nothing  like  these  cups,  for  they 
are  of  the  very  finest  East  India  porcelain,  and  if  we 
were  not  in  such  needy  circumstances,  we  might  set  a 
high  price  upon  them;  but  now  we  must  be  content 
with  what  he  will  give  you.  You  shall  take  the  cups, 
go  to  Liljedahl  and  offer  them  to  the  baron.  He  will 
understand  what  they  are." 

"And  how  much  shall  I  ask  for  them,   mamrna?" 

"They  are  worth  a  large  sum,  my  son,  but  you  may 
not  ask  more  than  four  riks-dollars,  and  if  he  will  not 
give  that,  you  must  take  what  he  offers." 

"Very  well,  mamma,  I'll  do  as  you  say." 

"Give  me  the  cups  first,  my  son.  I  will  see  them 
yet  once  more."  Maurits  went  to  the  shelf  where  the 
household  articles  were  kept,  took  the  tea-cups  care- 
fully therefrom,  and  carried  them  to  the  sick  mother. 

Mrs.  Sterner,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  took  one  of 
them  in  her  hand,  pressed  its  edge  against  her  pale 
lips,  and  smiled  sorrowfully. 

"Farewell!  You  dumb  witness  to  a  period  of  hap- 
piness now  of  the  past,"  whispered  she  gently.  "O, 
how  many  times  have  I  not,  before  the  blazing 
fireplace,  adorned  my  tea-table  with  you,  awaiting 
his  coming.  But  that  is  gone  now,  forever  gone. 
Must  I  then,  without  a  murmur,  offer  the  last  me- 
mento of  a  time  that  has  fled?" 

Mrs.  Sterner  returned  the  cup  to  Maurits,  who  took 
it  and  laid  it,  with  the  other,  in  a  basket. 

"Go,  now,  my  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Sterner;  "ask  to  see 
the  baron  himself,  for  there  is  no  other  in  the  house 


THE    PORCELAIN    CUPS  87 

who  will  understand  the  value  of  your  wares.  You 
know  the  way  there?" 

'Oh,  yes,  mamma,  Liljedahl  is  that  large  stone 
house  that  lies  on  the  point  jutting  out  into  the  lake 
and  is  reached  by  a  long  avenue  leading  from  the 
highway.  " 

"Yes.  my  boy." 

"Good!      I  am  off  then.      Good-bye,  mamma!" 

Maurits  took  his  little  bundle  and  departed. 

Mrs.  Sterner  cast  a  long,  sorrowful    look  after   him. 

"Poor  child,"  sighed  she,  "he  must  sell  a  pair  of 
tea-cups  in  order  to  procure  bread  for  himself  and 
mother,  and  notwithstanding — if  I  will — but,  no,  that 
were  a  crime.  I  am  not  yet  released  from  my  promise. 
I  must  empty  the  bitter  chalice  to  the  bottom  without 
complaint,  for  the  despised  gardener's  daughter  shall 
not  present  herself,  through  her  son,  to  claim  a  por- 
tion of  the  heritage.  It  is  my  son  who  shall  choose, 
when  he  has  reached  the  designated  age:  choose 
whether  he  wishes  riches  and  idleness,  or  a  meager  in- 
come acquired  by  his  own  efforts.  Was  not  that  your 
wish,  my  dear  husband?  And  that  poor,  that  deserted 
being  whom  you  took  up,  educated  and  loved,  shall 
she  stand  in  its  way?  Never!" 

The  woman  sank  into  deep  thought. 

Meantime,  Maurits,  with  his  burden  in  his  hands, 
•had  pursued  his  way  along  the  thoroughfare  until  he 
neared  the  entrance  to  the  avenue  which  led  to  the 
great  mansion  of  Liljedahl.  Here  he  turned  in  to  the 
left  and  followed  the  broad  and  beautiful  avenue, 
whose  spreading  trees  were  already  yellow,  tinged 
with  autumn  frosts,  though  their  leaves  had  not  yet 
fallen. 

Arriving  at  the  mansion  he  made  his  way  up  a  stairs 


88  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

at  one  end  of  the  building,  something  within  telling 
him  they  led  to  the  kitchen,  which  proved  to  be  cor- 
rect. 

The  little  boy  opened  the  door  and  entered  a  large 
room  where  various  domestics  were  engaged  with  the 
preparation  of  the  mid-day  meal,  for  it  was  already 
nearly  one  o'clock.  By  the  activity  and  bustle  that 
prevailed  among  the  servants,  and  the  great  quantities 
of  food  in  course  of  preparation,  Maurits  concluded 
that  a  great  dinner  was  on  hand.  At  thought  of  this 
he  trembled  with  fear  lest  he  should  be  driven  away 
without  opportunity  to  show  his  cups  to  the  baron. 
But  taking  courage,  he  addressed  an  aged  woman, 
clad  in  more  genteel  attire  than  the  others,  whom  he 
recognized  as  the  housekeeper. 

"My  good  lady,"  said  the  boy  with  trembling  voice, 
"do  you  think  I  rnay  speak  a  few  words  with  the  old 
baron? " 

"Speak  with  the  old  baron,"  exclaimed  the  woman 
in  surprise;  "and  what  business  have  you  with  him, 
you  little  brat?" 

"I  have  something  I  would  sell  him." 

"What  is  it?"  said  the  housekeeper  laughing.  "May- 
be you  want  to  sell  the  baron  some  butter.  Ha,  ha ! 
You  are  a  funny  boy!" 

"It  is  not  butter,  my  lady,"  answered  Maurits  de- 
jectedly. "It  is  something  quite  different.' 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"It  is  two  very  beautiful  tea  cups.  But  mamma, 
who  is  ill,  has  commanded  me  to  sell  them  to  tne 
baron,  that  we  may  get  money  with  which  to  buy 
food." 

"My  dear  child,"  said  the  housekeeper,  with  a  shrug 
of  the  shoulders,  "how  can  you  expect  the  baron  to 


THE    PORCELAIN    CUPS  89 

buy  a  pair  of  -tea  cups  while  we  have  an  abundance  of 
them  in  the  house? " 

"I  do  not  doubt  that,  but  these  are  of  an  uncom- 
mon qualit)',  and  my  mother  said  that  the  baron  would 
fancy  them.  They  are  genuine  East  India  porcelain, 
mother  says. " 

"Let  me  see  the  cups,  my  boy,"  said  the  house- 
keeper, who  was  naturally  a  tender-hearted  body,  and 
pitied  the  poor  child. 

"They  are  indeed,  beautiful,"  said  the  woman,  with 
an  approving  giance;  "how  much  do  you  ask  for 
them?  " 

"Four  riks -dollars,  my  mother  will  have.  She  said 
they  were  worth  much  more,  but  we  are  so  poor  that 
we  must  content  ourselves  with  what  is  given  us." 

"Four  riks-dollars  for  two  tea-cups!"  exclaimed  the 
housekeeper,  "that  is  preposterous.  Your  mother  must 
be  a  little  out  of  her  head." 

"Mamma  is  poor  and  has  nothing  to  eat,"  replied 
M  uirits,  ready  to  cry,  "but  she  is,  nevertheless,  quite 
as  clear-headed  as  any  other." 

"What  is  your  name,   my  boy?" 

"Maurits  Sterner. " 

"Ah,  you  are,  then,  the  son  of  the  poor  seamstress 
who  lives  near  the  village.  And  is  that  poor  creature 
ill?  She  is  at  least  obliging  and  industrious,  and  sews 
very  nicely.  I  must  give  her  so  much  praise,  for  she 
has  sewed  many  garments  for  me." 

"Well,  then,  my  good  lady,  you  will  prepare  the 
way  for  me  to  meet  the  baron? " 

"That  is  impossible,  my  boy,  for  we  are  to  have  & 
great  many  people  to  dinner,  and  the  baron  is  dress- 
ing. Besides,  he  has,  for  several  days,  had  strangers 
from  Stockholm.  But  f  am  sorry  for  you  and  your 


QO  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

good  mother;  wherefore,  I  will  send  a  little  good  food 
by  you,  and  when  that  is  gone,  return  and  get  more, 
until  your  mother  is  able  to  work  again." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  the  boy  with  feeling,  "but 
mamma  has  once  for  all  forbidden  me  to  take  alms- 
She  will  not  beg,  she  says,  but  will  support  herself 
with  her  work. " 

"That  is  quite  right  of  your  mother,  so  long  as  she 
is  well,  but  when  she  is  ill  and  can't  work,  she  must 
then  submit,  as  others  do,  to  being  helped.  There  is 
no  disgrace  in  it.  Tell  your  mother  so." 

"I  may  not  sell  my  cups,  then?"  continued  Maurits 
in  d'stress. 

"If  you  were  not  so  dear,  maybe  I  would  buy  them, 
but  now — " 

"What  is  the  matter?"  was  heard  in  a  woman's  voice 
from  behind  the  two  in  conversation. 

"Ah,  see,  Miss  Louise,"  said  the  housekeeper  to  a 
lively  and  pretty  waiting-maid  who  had  just  entered 
the  kitchen  from  an  adjoining  room,  "here  is  a  boy 
who  wishes  to  sell  a  pair  of  tea  cups.  Do  you  wish 
to  buy  them?" 

"What  is  the  price?"  inquired  the  girl,  approaching. 

"He  asks  four  riks-dollars  for  them." 

"Four  riks-dollars!  A  very  moderate  sum,  indeed; 
but  they  are  very  beautiful.  Perhaps  my  mistress  will 
buy  them.  She  has  a  weakness  for  porcelain." 

"Well,  take  the  boy  with  you  to  her,"  commanded 
the  housekeeper.  "I  am  very  sorry  for  the  child.  He 
has  a  poor,  sick  mother,  and  will  not,  withal,  accept 
a  little  food  offered  him.  His  mother  is  too  proud  to 
beg,  he  thinks." 

"Come  with  me,  my  little  friend,"  said  the  pretty 
maid.  "I'll  try  to  find  a  purchaser  for  you,  if  you  are 


THE    PORCELAIN    CUPS  9 1 

not  too  dear;'  otherwise  I  fear  my  mistress  will  give 
you  what  you  deserve.  She  belongs  to  those  who 
count  their  pennies,"  added  she,  laughing,  "but  we 
can  try,  nevertheless. " 

Maurits  returned  his  cups  to  the  basket,  and  fol- 
lowed the  maid  up  a  broad  stairway  of  cut  stone, 
which  connected  with  the  upper  apartments  of  that 
beautiful,  palatial  house. 

The  girl  conducted  him  through  a  long  corridor,  at 
one  end  of  which  she  paused  before  a  door. 

"Remain  here,  my  boy,"  said  she.  "I  will  go  in  and 
ask  if  my  lady  will  receive  you." 

She  opened  the  door  and  disappeared,  leaving 
Maurits  anxiously  awaiting  her  return.  She  soon  came 
back  and  beckoned  the  boy  to  enter.  Maurits  obeyed, 
but  his  little  heart  beat  heavily  with  apprehension. 
Everything  seemed  to  him  so  large,  so  grand  and 
lordly  that  he  trembled  when  he  set  his  foot  upon  the 
costly  carpet  with  which  the  floor  of  the  room  was 
covered. 

"Here  is  the  boy,  my  lady,"  announced  the  maid. 

Maurits  lifted  his  eyes  and  looked  about  him. 

The  following  picture  was  presented  to  his  view: 

Upon  a  magnificent  divan,  upholstered  with  silk  and 
adorned  with  a  fringe  of  gold,  sat  a  lady  of  perhaps 
thirty  years  of  age,  possessing  a  beautiful  but  almost 
expressionless  face,  if  we  except  a  touch  of  haughty 
arrogance  around  her  lips.  Her  figure  was  quite 
plump,  though  not  to  excess.  To  Balzac  she  would 
have  been  a  "femme  de  trente  ans."  The  haughty  dame 
was  clad  in  a  costly  toilet.  She  wore  a  dress  of  gray 
silk  and  a  genuine  cashmere  shawl  covered  her  shoul- 
ders. 
.On  an  ottoman  at  her  feet  sat  a  little  girl  who  ap- 


92  THE    PLAY    OF    PATE 

peareu  to  be  in  the  neighborhood  of  four  years.  The 
child's  face  was  surpassingly  beautiful,  and  her  nut- 
brown  eyes  sparkled  with  an  unusual  liveliness.  In 
an  easy-chair  opposite  the  divan,  was  a  young  man 
of  seemingly  more  than  ordinary  intelligence.  He  was 
resting  one  hand  upon  a  console,  supporting  a  display 
of  costly  vases,  while  with  the  other  he  held  a  book, 
which  he  seemed  to  have  just  ceased  reading. 

Around  the  floor  ran  a  little  six  year-old  boy,  wav- 
ing in  the  air  an  elegant  child's  sword. . 

When  Maurits  raised  his  eyes  from  the  floor  and 
cast  a  glance  at  the  several  persons,  he  was  reminded 
of  the  traveling  gentleman  who  treated  him  so  ill  when 
on  his  way  home  with  his  bundle  of  sticks.  "It  must  be 
the  same,"  thought  he,  with  a  feeling  of  alarm.  "The 
little  boy  who  struck  me  with  his  whip,  the  lady  with 
the  child  on  her  lap,  the  kind  gentleman  who  upbraided 
the  boy — all  are  here  except  the  severe  gentleman  who 
called  me  a  thief.  But  perhaps  he  too  will  come." 
With  these  thoughts  Maurits  was  so  possessed  by  fear 
that  his  legs  almost  refused  to  support  him. 

"How  is  it,  my  boy?"  said  the  lady  on  the  sofa, 
listlessly;  "you  have  something  to  sell,  I  am  told." 

"Yes,  my  lady,"  answered  Maurits,  supporting  him- 
self against  the  door-post,  "I  have  a  pair  of  beautiful 
tea-cups  that  I  would  ask  your  ladyship  to  buy. 

"Let  me  see  them,"  said  the  lady  rising.  "Set  them 
upon  the  stand  there." 

Maurits  breathed  again. 

"God  be  praised!  She  has  not  recognized  me," 
thought  he. 

He  stepped  forward  to  the  console,  opened  his  bas- 
ket, and  placed  his  tea-cups  on  exhibition. 

"They  are  indeed  genuine    East   India    porcelain," 


THE    PORCELAIN    CUPS  93 

muttered  the  lady  to  herself,  as  she  approvingly   held 
one  up  to  the  light.      "I  must  have  them." 

'Hear  me,"  she  continued  aloud.      "What    do   you 
ask  for  them?  " 

The  boy  named  his  price. 

"Four  riks-dollars!"  cried  she.  "That  is  entirely 
beyond  reason." 

"But  my  mamma  said — " 

"A  fig  for  what  your  mother  said,"  interrupted  the 
woman  impatiently.  "Short  and  sweet,  if  you  will  take 
one  riks-dollar  for  the  pair,  the  bargain  is  made." 

It  was  wealth  haggling  with  poverty.  The  lady 
knew  very  well  that  the  articles  were  worth  much  more 
than  the  poor  boy  demanded,  but  she  thought  of  noth- 
ing other  than  how  to  profit  by  his  needy  circum- 
stances. "For,"  thought  she,  "he  will  certainly  take 
what  I  offer,  if  I  stick  to  it." 

"Well,  will  you  take  two  riks-dollars  for   the  pair?" 

"Two  riks  dollars,  my  good  lady,"  said  he,  "is  not 
enough  to  procure  food  for  my  poor  mother  during  her 
illness.  I  dare  not  take  less  than  my  first  price." 

"Then  take  your  cups  and  be  off  with  you!"  shouted 
the  lady  harshly.  "I  have  offered  you  more  than  they 
are  worth. " 

Maurits  took  the  cup  from  her  and  was  about  to 
return  it  to  his  basket  when  the  lady  appeared  to  be 
on  the  point  of  changing  her  mind. 

"Hear  me,  boy,"  cried  she  suddenly.  "I  will  give 
you  three  riks-dollars.  Are  you  satisfied  with  that?" 

"Not  less  than  four,"  answered  Maurits,  whose  cour- 
age was  increased  by  an  encouraging  glance  from  the 
gentleman  holding  the  book. 

"If  you  do  not  take    what    mamma    offers  you,     I'll 
run  you  through    with  my  sword,"     shouted    the  little 
I 


94  THF.     PI. AY    OF    FATE 

son,  flourishing    his    weapon     before    Maurits'     face. 

"George!  George!  stop  that!"  broke  forth  the 
aforementioned  gentleman. 

George,  however,  paid  no  attention  to  the  command, 
but  lunging  at  Maurits  hit  him  full  on  the  arm. 
Maurits  was  not  wounded,  but,  overcome  with  fear, 
the  cup  in  his  hand  slipped  from  his  grasp,  struck  the 
edge  of  a  marble  table,  and  fell  in  a  thousand  pieces 
to  the  floor. 

"George!"  shouted  the  gentleman,  grasping  the  child 
by  the  arm,  "George,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  so 
abuse  a  poor  boy  who  never  did  you  an  injury." 

"Dear  Magister,  let  him  go,"  said  the  lady  with 
haughty  coldness.  "That  is  a  mere  bagatelle.  Why 
should  one  make  so  much  noise  about  a  trifle?" 

The  young  man  sighed  and  released  George's  arm, 
while  Maurits,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  contemplated 
the  remains  of  his  mother's  last  possessions  lying 
scattered  upon  the  costly  carpet. 

At  this  instant,  the  door  was  thrown  forcibly  open 
and  an  elegantly  attired  gentleman,  bearing  an  order 
upon  his  breast,  entered  the  room. 

"It  is  time  for  us  to  repair  to  the  hall,"  said  he,  as 
soon  as  he  set  his  foot  upon  the  threshold.  "The 
guests  are  already  beginning  to  arrive.  Are  you 
ready? " 

The  voice  caused  Maurits  to  tremble.  He  lifted 
his  eyes  slowly  and  cast  a  timid  glance  at  the  speak- 
er. He  recognized  the  same  hard  and  scornful  feat- 
ures that  had  once  before  caused  him  such  terror. 

The  great  man's  glance  fell  upon  the  boy,  where- 
upon he  frowned  and  inquired  with  vehemence: 

"What  is  this  boy  doing  here?  Do  you  invite  beggar 
young  ones  to  your  cabinet,  Cecilia?" 


THE    PORCELAIN     CUPS  95 

"Forgive  me,  my  friend,"  replied  the  woman  apolo- 
getically, "I  have  been  bargaining  with  him  for  a  pair 
of  East  India  tea-cups." 

"A  pair  of  East  India  tea-cups!  "  interrupted  the 
baron,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  "what  nonsense  is  this? 
Be  off  with  you,  sir,"  continued  he,  turning  to  Maurits, 
"or  I'll  box  your  ears." 

Weeping,  the  boy  took  the  remaining  cup,  laid  it  in 
the  basket  with  the  saucer,  cast  a  sorrowful  glance  at 
the  pieces  of  the  other  lying  on  the  floor,  and  ap- 
proached the  door. 

r'Herr  Baron,"  spoke  the  young  man  holding  the 
book,  "I  feel  that  I  ought  to  call  your  attention  to  the 
fact  that  George,  in  an  ill  temper,  broke  in  pieces  one 
of  the  poor  boy's  cups,  and  I  submit  to  you  whether 
he  ought  not  to  receive  some  compensation." 

"Ah,  so,"  said  the  baron;  "give  him  a  few  shillings 
and  let  him  go.  Wait,  boy." 

Maurits  paused. 

"See  here, George, "  said  the  baron  to  his  son,  at  the 
same  time  handing  him  some  change,  "give  this  to 
the  little  beggar,  my  boy." 

"But,  my  lord,"  remonstrated  the  master,  "the  cup 
was  worth  at  the  least  three  riks-dollars,  for  it  was 
genuine. " 

""" Nonsense!  Three  riks  dollars  for  a  tea-cup!  Are 
you  mad?  Do  as  I  say,  George,  and  then  get  you 
gone,"  added  he,  turning  to  Maurits. 

George  advanced  to  the  beggar  boy  -  as  the  baron 
denominated  all  children  of  poor  people,  or  all  who 
were  poorly  clad— and  in  a  haughty  manner  extended 
toward  him  the  change  his  father  had  given  him. 
Maurits  thrust  the  little  tyrant's  hand  vigorously  from 
him,  opened  the  door  and  rushed  out  into  the  corr  ^or, 
his  heart  bleeding  with  pain  and  indignation. 


96  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Weeping,  the  boy  hastened  down  the  grand  stair- 
way and  neared  the  door  opening  on  to  the  garden. 
Here  he  witnessed  one  carriage  after  another  drive  up 
to  the  large  stairway  supported  by  Doric  pillars,  lead- 
ing to  the  porch.  Two  servants  in  livery  stood  on 
the  threshold  bowing  and  receiving  the  guests,  while 
another  threw  open  the  large  double  folding  doors  to 
the  hall,  and,  in  a  loud  voice,  announced  the  new 
comer. 

Just  as  poor  Maurits,  still  in  tears  over  the  unmerited 
treatment  he  had  a  second  time  experienced  at  the 
hands  of  the  baron  and  his  family,  reached  the  door 
to  the  porch,  a  magnificent  landau,  drawn  by  four 
Arabian  steeds,  halted  in  front. 

Frightened,  the  boy  concealed  himself  between  the 
door  and  the  wall,  at  the  same  time  peeping  curiously 
through  the  crack  to  get  a.  glimpse  of  the  elegant 
gentry,  who,  without  doubt,  occupied  the  magnificent 
equipage. 

But  no,  only  one  person  alighted  and  entered,  fol- 
lowed by  the  bowing  servants  in  the  porch. 

This  person  was  a  young  man,  twenty-three  or  twen- 
ty-four years  of  age,  perhaps.  His  features  were  regu- 
lar and  handsome;  a  head  of  black  curly  hair  shaded 
a  strikingly  white  forehead,  and  the  large  nut-brown 
eyes  glowed  with  an  unusual  fire.  But  over  the  whole 
lay  an  expression  of  sadness,  of  darkness,  of  night,  if 
we  may  be  allowed  to  use  the  term,  and  a  face  whose 
deathly  pallor  made  one  think  of  the  fallen  archangel 
as  painted  in  Milton's  "Paradise  Lost." 

It  was  plain  to  be  seen  in  those  tightly  drawn  lips 
that  they  were  unaccustomed  to  smile,  and  the  gloomy 
fire  that  burned  in  those  eyes  seemed  to  have  no  affin- 
ity with  the  kingdom  of  light. 


THE    PORCELAIN    CUPS  97 

The  young  man,  clad  wholly  in  black,  except  his 
vest  which  was  a  dazzling  white,  passed  through  the 
porch,  and  entered  the  hall  doors,  flung  open  for  him 
by  the  attendant  servant. 

Maurits  heard  the  latter  announce  with  a  loud  voice: 
"Count  Stjernekrantz  of  Odensvik. " 

The  doors  close. 

"Count  Stjernekrantz,"  thought  Maurits  with  sur- 
prise. "He  has  then  returned  home  from  his  travels. 
I  did  not  know  that." 

The  whole  of  this  scene  had  taken  place  in  a  few 
seconds. 

As  soon  as  the  count's  stately  carriage  had  left  the 
steps,  Maurits  crept  out  through  the  doorway,  and 
hastened  across  the  yard  as  fast  as  his  legs  could 
carry  him.  He  had  already  reached  the  gate,  and 
was  on  the  point  of  passing  out  into  the  avenue  when 
he  heard  a  voice  call: 

''Halt!   boy,  I  wish  to  speak  with  you." 

Maurits  turned  around.  The  man  he  had  seen  in 
the  lady's  cabinet  with  the  book,  the  same  who  had 
encouraged  him  by  his  looks  during  the  bargaining 
for  the  tea-cups,  the  man  for  whom  the  little  boy  al- 
ready felt  the  liveliest  attachment  and  gratitude,  ap- 
proached him  with  swift  paces. 

"My  little  friend,"  said  the  young  man,  arriving  at 
Maurits'  side,  "come  a  few  steps  to  one  side,  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you." 

Maurits  followed  in  silence  to  a  wing  of  the  mansion 
whose  porch  they  entered. 

"My  boy,"  said  the  unknown,  "they  have  done  you 
great  injustice  up  there,  great  injustice.  I  deem  it 
proper  to  acknowledge  as  much." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  boy  sobbing,  "you  must 
also  be  poor  since  you  are  so  kind." 


98  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"I  am  not  rich,  my  friend,"  resumed  the  stranger,  a 
melancholy  smile  flitting  over  his  noble  and  soulful 
countenance.  "But  that  is  not  in  question.  You 
asked  four  riks-dollars  for  your  tea  cups,  is  that  not 
so?" 

'Yes,   sir." 

"They  are  worth  double  that  sum,  for  they  are  of 
rare  quality.  I  will  therefore  buy  the  remaining  one 
and  give  you  what  you  asked  for  the  two." 

"Will  you  truly  do  so,  good  sir?"  cried  Maurits  with 
joy.  '  May  God  bless  you!  My  poor  mother  need  not, 
then,  die  of  hunger." 

"No,  no,  that  shall  not  be,"  resumed  the  young 
man,  much  moved.  "Give  here  your  wares  and  take 
your  money. " 

Maurits  unfolded  the  handkerchief,  and  handed  the 
remaining  cup  to  his  generous  companion,  who,  taking 
from  his  pocket  a  purse,  counted  out  and  passed  over 
to  Maurits  the  four  riks-dollars,  after  which  he  called 
to  a  passing  servant  and  bade  him  take  the  cup  to  the 
kitchen. 

"Farewell,  my  boy,"  continued  he,  turning  to 
Maurits;  "if  I  can  do  anything  for  you  or  your  mother, 
come  to  me  another  day." 

"Dare  I  now  ask  a  favor?"  asked  Maurits. 

"What  is  it?" 

"May  I  know  your   name?" 

"What  would  that  avail  you?" 

"I  can  then  pray  to  God  for  you,"  answered  the  boy 
with  apparent  piety;  "and,  too,  I  would  know  the  name 
of  him  who  has  saved  my  mother  from  death  " 

"Tell  me  first,  what  is  your  name,  my  child?"  in- 
quired the  young  man,  deeply  moved  by  the  boy's  piety 
and  gratefulness. 


THE    PORCELAIN    CUPS  9Q 

Maurits  told  him  his  name. 

"Very  well,  my  name  is  Magister  Holmer. " 

"Magister  Holmer;  I  shall  never  forget  it.  Thank 
you,  sir." 

The  tutor  pressed  the  poor  boy's  hand  and  turned 
toward  the  principal  building. 

With  light  step  and  joyous  heart,  Maurits  hastened 
home  to  the  wretched  hut.  His  commission  had  ter- 
minated in  unexpected  good  fortune.  He  had  his  four 
riks-dollars  in  his  hand.  "Now  mamma  shall  have 
some  warm  soup,"  was  the  thought  that  gave  him  new 
life. 

We  must  not  think  ill  of  the  poor  boy  if,  after  the 
remarkable  adventures  of  the  day,  he  busied  himself 
on  the  way  home  with  some  not  altogether  pleasant 
comparisons. 


CHAPTER  VI 

JACOB     KRON 

The  day  for  the  meeting  with  the  red-head  had  ar- 
rived. Maurits  returned  from  his  lesson  at  Pastor 
Bergholm's  at  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  There 
was  thus  yet  an  hour  before  the  appointed  time. 

He  had  not  mentioned  the  matter  of  this  appoint- 
ment to  his  mother,  knowing  that  she  would  surely 
forbid  his  going,  and  he  would  not  have  disobeyed 
her.  He,  therefore,  said  nothing,  but  deliberated  long 
whether  he  ought  to  or  not. 

On  the  one  hand,  his  conscience  told  him  that  he 
was  doing  wrong  if  he  did  anything  contrary  to  his 
mother's  wishes,  a  wish  that  he  had  always  been  ac- 
customed to  regard  as  the  highest  law.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  felt  an  irresistible  desire  to  again  meet 
this  being.  His  curiosity  was  further  augmented  by 
the  recollection  that  only  a  few  days  before  he  had 
seen  the  young  man  in  the  garb  of  an  old  one,  wan- 
dering around  the  village  with  an  organ  and  a  monke)r, 
and  he  longed  to  unravel  the  puzzling  circumstance. 
Besides,  a  deep  interest  and  an  indescribable  s}'mpathy 
impelled  him  to  the  meeting.  "This  red  head,"  thought 
he,  "is  poor,  deserted  and  unhappy,  as  I  am.  He  is 
a  pitiable  wanderer,  for  he  has  no  one  to  love  him, 
while  I  have  my  mother.  Why  should  I  not  go  to  him 
as  he  bade  me?  And,  moreover,  he  has  been  perse- 
cuted and  abused  by  the  rich,  as  I  have  been,  only 
much  worse.  I  should  very  much  wish  to  know  the 

100 


JACOB    KRON  IOI 

circumstances  that  drove  him  from  school,  which  he 
says  he  attended  as  a  child,  and  what  sent  him  alone 
into  the  world. " 

So  thought  Maurits,  and  he  determined,  as  a  result 
thereof,  to  go  to  the  forest  at  the  usual  hour  to  fetch 
wood,  and  at  the  same  time  visit  the  murdered  man's 
grave,  which,  the  reader  will  remember,  was  the  ap- 
pointed meeting-place. 

What  more  than  anything  else  determined  him,  was 
the  recollection  of  the  sympathy  and  kindness  Jacob 
Kron  had  shown  him  when  they  met  before  in  the 
forest.  No  one  could  possess  a  heart  more  sensitive 
to  manifestations  of  benevolence  than  Maurits.  He 
felt  it  a  duty  to  love,  and  every  one  who  showed  him 
any  kindness  was  assured  of  his  gratitude.  He 
possessed  thus  a  rich  fund  of  love  by  nature.  If  in 
the  future  he  comes  to  hate,  it  is  not  his  fault,  but 
that  of  mankind  or  of  fate. 

Upon  the  four  riks-dollars,  received  by  Maurits  from 
the  generous  young  man  who  bought  his  tea-cup,  the 
little  family  had  subsisted  during  the  intervening 
days. 

Mrs.  Sterner  had  gained  much  in  strength  from  hav- 
ing received  nourishing  food,  and  also  from  Pastor 
Bergholm's  remedies.  She  could  now  work  again  a  few 
hours  daily,  and  hoped  to  be  able  to  complete  a  dozen 
shirts  for  the  steward  of  Odensvik,  for  which  she  ex- 
pected to  receive  several  rix  dollars  compensation. 
The  little  family's  greatest  needs  were  thus  provided 
for,  and  it  was  by  no  means  Maurits'  intention  to  re- 
mind Jacob  of  his  promise  to  help  them.  It  was  no 
selfish  motive,  then,  but  only  curiosity  and  interest 
that  impelled  him  to  go  to  the  appointed  meeting. 

The  hour  was  finally  approaching  five.      Maurits  put 


IO2  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

on  his  coat  which  his  mother  had  made  from  that 
given  him  by  Pastor  Bergholm.  With  this  garment 
he  was  reasonably  well  shielded  from  the  rain  and  cold. 

"I  am  going  after  wood,  now,  mother,"  said  the  boy. 
"If  I  should  be  absent  a  little  longer  than  usual  do 
not  worry.  ' 

"And  why  should  you  be  away  longer  than  usual?" 
asked  Mrs.  Sterner. 

"It  is  beautiful  weather  this  evening,  mother,"  an- 
swered Maurits,  somewhat  embarrassed,  for  he  was  not 
accustomed  to  prevaricating,  "and  I  will,  therefore, 
search  for  some  plants.  The  pastor  has  promised  to 
begin  with  a  little  botany  if  I  am  willing." 

This  was  quite  true,  for  Pastor  Bergholm  had  sug- 
gested to-his  pupil  that  he  bring  some  flowers  and 
plants,  and  he  would  begin  to  teach  him  the  first  prin- 
ciples of  botany. 

"Good,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Sterner,  who  did 
not  observe  her  son's  perplexity.  "Look  up  your  plants, 
but  don't  stay  too  long;  you  know  that  I  am  always 
uneasy  when  you  are  absent." 

Maurits  departed.  It  was,  as  he  had  said,  a  beau- 
tiful autumn  evening.  The  sun  was  well  in  the  west, 
but  it  had  not  yet  begun  to  grow  dark.  Besides,  it 
was  full  moon,  and  the  boy  need  not  fear  the  darkness 
as  before. 

When  he  reached  the  stone-heap,  the  red-head,  as 
Maurits  had  named  him,  had  not  yet  arrived.  He 
went,  therefore,  a  few  steps  into  the  forest  and  gathered 
his  little  load,  after  which  he  plucked  as  many  flowers 
and  plants  as  he  could  hastily  find,  in  order  that  his 
mother  should  not  mistrust  him  when  he  returned 
home. 

While  thus  employed,  he  heard  a  hasty  step  on    the 


JACOB    KRON  103 

roadway.  He  ran  back  to  the  meeting  place,  and  ob- 
served the  red-headed  man  coming  from  the  same  di- 
rection as  before.  He  was  now  clad  in  the  same  garb 
as  then.  His  attire  was  very  ragged,  which,  in  con- 
nection with  his  red  hair  and  beard  and  the  wild  ex- 
pression in  his  face,  gave  him  an  almost  frightful 
aspect.  This  did  not  disturb  Maurits,  for  he  knew 
that  Jacob  was  a  kind  man,  and,  besides,  he  was  un- 
der obligations  to  him  for  the  help  rendered  upon  his 
former  visit  to  the  place. 

Jacob  Kron  at  once  perceived  the  boy,  and,  turning 
from  the  road,  climbed  the  stone- heap,  toward  the  top 
of  which  Maurits  also  clambered  from  the  opposite 
side,  after  laying  his  bundle  down  at  the  edge  of  the 
forest. 

"Good,  my  boy,"  said  Jacob,  patting  him  upon  the 
shoulder.  "I  see  you  are  punctual.  We  will  now 
talk  a  few  minutes,  for  I  am  very  much  interested  in 
you.  But  first,  how  is  your  mother?" 

"Mamma  is  much  better,"  Maurits  hastened  to 
assure  him.  "She  can  now  work  again,  and  we  have, 
besides,  received  help  in  our  trouble,  so  that  we  have 
got  along  nicely.  I  am,  therefore,  not  come  to  ap- 
peal to  you  for  the  aid  so  kindly  proffered  at  our  last 
meeting,  but  only  to  hear  what  you  have  to  say  to 
me.  ' 

"So  much  the  better,  my  dear  Maurits,"  resumed 
Jacob.  'Let  us  go  down  toward  the  edge  of  the  wood. 
There  we  shall  not  be  seen  nor  heard  if  perchance 
some  one  should  pass  by  on  the  road." 

At  this  place  they  were  shielded  from  the  way- 
farer's observation.  Neither  could  their  conversation 
be  overheard,  even  if  listened  for  from  the  roadside, 
which  was  not  likely  to  happen. 


104  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Tell  me  first,"  began  Maurits,  "how  it  came  about 
that  a  few  days  ago  you  were  an  old  man  going  about 
with  an  organ,  and  how  is  it  that  you  are  here  quite  a 
young  man  again.  Were  you  in  disguise?" 

"Yes,  my  boy.  I  found  an  old  organ-grinder  lying 
sick  in  a  hut  about  a  mile  from  here.  The  man  could 
not  earn  anything  with  his  organ,  being  sick.  I 
offered,  therefore,  to  go  with  it  in  his  stead,  the  pro- 
ceeds to  be  divided  equally.  The  project  pleased  him, 
and  so  you  now  understand  it." 

"But  why  did  you  need  to  disguise  yourself?" 

"Partly  because  I  wished  to  avoid  being  recognized, 
and  partly  because  an  old  man  can  awake  more  sym- 
pathy than  a  young  one.  I  procured  for  myself,  also, 
a  false  beard  and  an  old  gray  wig,  then  went  to  the 
different  mansions  where  I  played  and  allowed  my 
monkey  to  dance  for  the  children.  I  received  quite  a 
sum  of  money  which  I  divided  with  the  owner  of  the 
organ.  It  was,  certainly,  a  sort  of  deception,  but  it 
is  no  sin  to  deceive  the  rich  into  helping  the  poor." 

"Do  you  think  so?  '  said  Maurits  thoughtfully. 
''Mamma  says  that  any  kind  of  deception  is  a  great 
sin." 

"Yes,  your  mother  says  so,  because  she,  perhaps, 
does  not  understand  all  the  deceptions,  all  the  cruelty 
and  baseness  the  rich  practice  against  us.  If  I  should 
relate  to  you  the  history  of  my  life,  you  would  find 
that  all  the  revenge  I  can  take  upon  the  rich  is  both 
right  and  well  merited." 

"Tell  me  your  life  history!"  cried  Maurits  eagerly. 
"There  is  something  about  you  that  says  you  have  been 
very  unfortunate,  and  I  feel,  therefore,  the  deepest 
compassion  for  you.  But  you,  why  are  you  interested 
in  me?" 


JACOB    KRON  105 

"Because  your  fate  resembles  mine,  although,  let 
us  hope,  it  will  have  a  more  agreeable  unfolding. 
With  me,  fate  has  had  her  play,  and  has  played 
cruelly. " 

"My  fate  resembles  yours,  say  you.      Why  so?" 

"Because  you  are  a  poor,  uncared-for  child,  as  I  have 
been;  because  you  have  only  a  mother  to  love,  to  ad- 
mire, to  worship  as  I  had;  because  you  are,  no  doubt, 
as  1,  a  child  of  sin,  abandoned  to  wind  and  wave  by 
some  rich  man.  Therefore  I  love  you,  therefore  I  will 
relate  to  you  a  portion  of  my  history  as  a  warning,  a 
terrible  warning.  You  are  young,  credulous  and  weak. 
I  will  make  you  incredulous  and  strong,  my  friend, 
provided  that  you  wish  to  escape  the  misfortunes  that 
have  befallen  me.  I  believe  I  shall  do  you  a  service 
with  the  narration." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  asked  Maurits  with  some  mis- 
giving. 

"Yes;  know,  my  boy,  that  there  are  two  powers  rul- 
ing the  world,  the  good  and  the  evil.  Their  ways  run 
parallel — the  one  reaches  quite  as  far  as  the  other. 
You  know  little  about  any  other  than  the  good.  I  will 
make  you  acquainted  with  the  evil." 

"And  wherefore?"   interrupted  the  boy. 

"When  I  say  I  will  make  you  acquainted  with  the 
evil,  I  do  not  mean  that  I  shall  do  you  harm.  I  could 
find  no  warrant  for  that.  But  you  understand  well 
that  if  one  travels  a  rocky  road,  as  life's  road  is,  he 
ought  to  have  a  guide,  who  not  alone  tells  one  where 
he  may  go  without  danger,  but  points  out  the  dangers 
which  he  should  avoid." 

"Yes,"  said  Maurits,  "I  understand  what  you  mean." 

"Well,  then,  I  will  be  your  guide.  I  will  show  you 
the  chasms  on  your  way  of  which  you  have  till  now 


I06  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

been  ignorant.  You  shall  know  that  upon  life's  way 
there  are  chasms,  deep  and  terrible." 

"You  know  them,  '  said  the  little  boy  with  a  shud- 
der. 

"Yes,  I  know  them,  my  child,"  resumed  the  man, 
while  a  bitter  smile  flitted  over  his  countenance,  "they 
have  swallowed  me  up." 

Jacob  was  silent  for  an  instant.  The  dusk  had  be- 
gun to  spread,  and  the  moon,  already  in  the  firma- 
ment, cast  her  silver  rays  between  the  trunks  of  the 
forest.  From  a  near  pine  tree  came  the  lament  of  the 
thrush,  the  nightingale  of  the  north,  whom  the  Octo- 
ber winds  had  not  yet  driven  away.  Except  the  autumn 
wind  sighing  through  the  forest,  no  other  sound  was 
heard. 

Jacob  had  hidden  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  ap . 
peared  to  be  buried  in  bitter  memories.  At  his  side 
sat  the  child,  looking  up  with  wonder  and  interest  to 
that  strange  teacher  in  rags.  It  was  indeed  a  singu- 
lar contrast.  That  gloomy,  wild-looking  man,  ravaged 
by  passions,  by  mental  and  physical  suffering,  and  by 
his  side  the  child,  still  unacquainted  with  the  world 
and  its  evils,  listening  with  engrossed  attention,  with 
lively  interest,  to  the  ragamuffin  who  had  already  gone 
through  life's  bitter  school,  and  had  ccme  to  initiate 
the  boy'  s  credulous  heart  into  its  dangerous  mysteries. 

" Mauri ts,"  said  Jacob  finally,  "your  mamma  has 
taught  you  to  believe  in  God.  Is  it  not  so?" 

"Yes." 

"Believe  in  him,  boy.  You  do  right  therein.  Be- 
lieve as  long  as  you  can  in  a  gentle  Providence  that 
directs  the  course  of  mankind.  I  will  not  deprive  you 
of  that  belief.  You  are  happy  in  it.  Even  I  have  be- 
lieved Even  I  have  been  happy." 


JACOB    KRON  IO7 

"Do  you  no  longer  believe  in  God?"  asked  the  boy 
with  a  shudder. 

"My  child,"  continued  Jacob,  "I  said  to  you  just 
now  that  there  are  two  powers  that  rule  the  world, 
the  good  and  the  evil.  But  over  these  there  is  a  third 
power,  a  power  you  call  God,  and  which  I  name  fate. " 

"Fate,"  repeated  the  boy  tremblingly. 

"Yes,  or  chance  if  you  will.  Assume  that  we  sin- 
cerely and  earnestly  place  ourselves  under  the  banner 
of  the  better  power;  assume  that  we  struggle,  surfer 
and  bleed  in  the  battle  against  the  evil — do  you  believe 
that  victcry  will  always  result?  No,  my  child,  I  have 
tried  it  for  many  years.  For  many  years  I  have  fought 
against  temptation,  against  want,  against  crime  and 
misery.  And  do  you  think  I  have  attained  other  than 
want,  crime  and  misery?  This  because  I  was  poor;  be- 
cause I  was  defenseless  against  the  persecutions,  the 
infamies  heaped  upon  me;  for  listen,  my  child,  there 
is  a  power  that  can  sometimes  measure  itself  with  fate, 
and  that  is  gold.  But  gold  nourishes  desires,  desires 
must  be  satisfied,  and  at  whose  expense,  do  you  think? 
At  that  of  the  weak  and  poor,  the  defenseless.  The 
rich  therefore  respect  each  other,  and  they  gather  in 
common  their  sacrifices  from  the  ranks  of  the  poor, 
and  if  the  unfortunate  one  complains,  he  is  silenced 
with  gold  or  violence. " 

"Yes,"  said  Maurits,  who  with  growing  interest 
heard  these  gloomy  teachings.  "Yes,  you  are  right; 
they  silence  us  with  outrage,  and  tramp  us  under 
foot.  I  have  myself  recently  been  made  to  experience 
that." 

"When  and  what  was  the  occasion?" 

Maurits  gave  an  account  of  his  mission  to  Liljedahl 
and  how  he  had  fared  now  a  second  time  at  the  hands 
of  the  haughty  family. 


IO8  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Yes,"  burst  forth  Jacob  Kron  in  great  anger,  "such 
are  they,  and  one  must  not  hate  them,  we  are  told — 
hate  them  bitterly,  deeply,  eternally!" 

"I  could  have  endured  all  else,"  said  Maurits,  "but 
I  should  never  have  believed  that  a  boy  so  small  as 
the  baron's  son  could  be  so  ugly." 

"Bah!  that  is  nothing  unusual;  'from  Satan's  eggs 
imps  are  bred,'  the  saying  goes.  As  the  father  is  so 
the  son  will  be  with  his  example  before  his  eyes.  He 
would  better  be  careful  or  it  will  go  with  him  as  with 
the  man  murdered  on  this  spot.  He  was  also  a  baron." 

"Ugh!   that  was  a  terrible  deed,    a    horrible  crime!" 

"Yes,  so  says  mankind,  "resumed  the  red-head.  "It 
was  a  horrible  crime,  they  say,  but  who  knows  never- 
theless? There  might  be  mitigating  circumstances." 

"Do  you  then  know  something  about    the    murder?" 

"No  matter,"  interrupted  Jacob  vigorously.  "Let 
us  talk  of  other  things.  I  promised  to  tell  you  some- 
thing of  my  past  life." 

"Ah,  yes!"  cried  Maurits.     "Go  on." 

"Hear  then,  and  treasure  in  your  mind  what  I  sa)r. 
There  may  be  much  that  you  cannot  comprehend  now, 
some  day  you  will  understand  it,  perhaps.  It  will  then 
bear  fruit.  I  hope." 

"My  father,"  began  Jacob,  after  a  few  minutes'  re- 
flection, "my  father,  or  more  correctly,  he  whom  I 
regarded  in  my  childhood  as  my  father,  was  a  poor 
laborer  in  a  small  city  of  Westergothland.  He  had 
been  a  soldier,  and  was  named  Kron  in  the  army, 
which  name  he  retained  even  after  leaving  the  service. 
The  laborer  Kron  was  already  fifty  years  old  when  he 
took  the  foolish  crotchet  to  marry  a  young  and  beauti- 
ful girl  whose  parents  had  died  a  short  time  before  in 
the  utmost  poverty.  Kron  pitied  the  girl,  and,  besides, 


JACOB    KRON  ICQ 

being  a  simple  hearted  fellow,  he  was  easily  infatuated 
by  her  beautiful  eyes.  He  was  also  poor,  but  had  a 
home  to  which  he  could  take  his  bride,  and  a  crust  to 
share  with  her.  Two  years  after  the  union,  I  saw  the 
light.  The  neighbors  gossiped  and  conjectured  that 
I  was  not  the  son  of  Kron." 

"That  you  were  not  your  father's  son!"  interrupted 
the  boy  in  surprise.  "What  do  you  mean?" 

"This  is  one  of  the  things  alluded  to  that  you  do 
not  yet  understand,  my  child.  It  is  as  well;  store  it 
in  your  memory. 

"Our  neighbors  declared  me  illegitimate,  but  my 
father  did  not  believe  them.  He  paid  no  heed  to 
their  prattle,  but  loved  me  as  dearly  as  if  no  doubt 
had  ever  been  expressed  about  my  legitimacy.  My 
father  lived  in  a  little  city  in  which  there  was  a  pri- 
mary school.  He  early  inclined  me  toward  study, 
hoping  sometime  to  see  me  a  priest.  So,  in  good 
time,  I  was  sent  to  school,  some  generous  residents 
of  the  city  contributing  a  sum  of  money  sufficient  to 
equip  me  with  the  necessary  clothes,  books,  etc.  I 
was  very  apt,  and  soon  won  favor  with  nearly  all  of 
my  teachers.  I  say  nearly  all,  but  there  was  one 
among  them  who  could  never  tolerate  me.  I  do  not  to 
this  hour  know  the  wherefor.  I  had  already  progressed 
to  the  fourth  class,  in  whose  lower  division  I  stood 
primus.  My  progress  in  my  studies  had  been  rapid, 
surprisingly  so.  I  had  absolved  Cornelius,  read  Ovid's 
Metamorphoses,  and  in  the  Greek,  the  lighter  of 
Xenophon's  writings.  The  French  and  German  lan- 
guages I  had  learned  without  a  master,  and  was,  be- 
sides, looked  upon  as  the  ablest  among  my  fellows  in 
geography,  history  and  mathematics.  I  was  but  thir- 
teen years  old  at  this  time.  My  prospects  were  thus 


IIO  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

good,  and,  whenever  I  visited  my  parents,  who  had 
moved  a  little  distance  out  of  town,  my  good  mother 
wept  tears  of  joy,  and  my  father  patted  me  on  the 
shoulders  and  said:  'You  will  surely  be  an  able  priest 
in  time.' 

"My  father  was  a  mason.  One  day  while  working 
for  a  rich  man,  he  fell  from  a  height  and  his  head  was 
crushed  upon  the  street  pavement.  He  died  on  the 
spot,  of  course.  My  poor  mother,  who  was  very  sickly, 
had  now  nothing  upon  which  to  subsist,  and  no  means 
of  supporting  us;  in  consequence  of  this  she  was  taken 
to  the  city's  poor-house — a  miserable  den  lying  some 
distance  from  the  city,  opposite  the  whipping-post. 
Probably,  to  remind  the  inmates  that  poverty  and 
crime  go  hand  in  hand,  as  do  riches  and  depravity. 

"I  remember  how  often  I  sat  at  the  bedside  of  m)' 
idolized  mother,  in  that  dark,  damp  hovel  where  she 
was  confined.  There  the  poor  woman  lay  upon  a 
bundle  of  rotten  straw,  covered  with  a  ragged  blanket 
which  barely  shielded  her  wasting  limbs.  I  sat  by 
her  side  and  consoled  her  with  the  hope,  the  rich 
hope,  that  I  read  from  the  psalm-book  and  Bible  for 
her,  and  her  pain  was  assuaged  when  she  heard  my 
voice.  I  was  her  all  on  earth.  I  would  some  day 
break  for  myself  an  honorable  path,  she  believed, 
when  I  could  come  and  take  her  from  the  poor-house 
to  my  own  residence  and  then, — then  we  should  never 
again  be  separated.  Such  were  the  plans  we  perfected 
together.  About  this  time,  an  event  took  place  that 
gave  my  destiny  another  direction,  that  crushed  my 
hopes  and  dissipated  all  my  dreams.  Until  this  I 
had  been  fed,  from  day  to  day,  at  the  tables  of  some 
of  the  principal  people  of  the  place  and  had  thus  fared 
very  well.  Much  kindness  was  shown  me,  and  my 
young  heart  was  grateful  therefor. 


JACOB    KRON  III 

"In  the  same  class  with  myself  there  was  a  fourteen- 
year-old  boy,  son  of  a  rich  nobleman.  He  was  very 
lazy  and  ignorant,  but  he  held  himself,  nevertheless, 
high  above  his  comrades,  in  which  he  was  encouraged 
by  some  of  the  teachers,  anxious,  even  at  the  expense 
of  the  other  pupils,  and  the  sacrifice  of  justice,  to 
stand  well  in  the  regard  of  the  rich.  For  this  reason, 
he  was  an  object  of  general  hate,  for  a  child  who  has 
not  yet  been  corrupted  by  contact  with  the  world  will, 
without  affectation  show  his  displeasure  with  anything 
that  partakes  of  partiality.  The  little  baron,  as  he 
was  called  by  the  teachers,  from  the  first  had  a  jealous 
eye  on  me  because  of  my  progress  in  study,  and  the 
favor  with  which  I  was  regarded  by  some  of  the  learned 
and  liberal-minded  professors.  Badly  reared,  as  are 
most  of  the  aristocracy's  degenerate  brood,  he  availed 
himself  of  every  opportunity  that  presented  to  degrade 
me  in  the  opinion  of  my  teachers,  at  whose  houses  he 
was  often  a  guest.  Besides  this,  I  was  many  times 
selected  as  the  target  of  his  slanderous  tongue.  'Para- 
site,' was  an  expression  often  made  use  of  by  him,  by 
reason  of  my  being  fed  at  different  houses.  He  car- 
ried the  thing  even  to  scoffing  at  my  patched  panta- 
loons, my  coarse  shoes,  and  more  than  all  at  my  red 
hair.  All  this  I  endured  with  calmness,  for  I  had  the 
sympathy  of  all  the  others  of  my  comrades,  and  could, 
therefore,  afford  to  pay  no  attention  to  his  abuse. 

"But  once,  it  was  about  Christmas  time,  he  hurled 
his  insults  at  my  poor  mother,  asserting  that  I  was  a 
bastard.  I  could  no  longer  control  my  anger.  I  struck 
the  baron  such  a  blow  that  he  tumbled  end  over  end, 
changing  his  tune  very  suddenly.  That  the  son  of  a 
coarse  laborer  should  dare  to  strike  a  baron  was  a 
crimen  hcsic  majcstatis,  and  must  not  escape  its  merited 


112  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

chastisement.  Howling  with  rage,  he  rushed  to  the 
teacher  whom  he  knew  to  be  my  enemy,  and  com- 
plained bitterly  at  the  affront  that  had  been  offered  his 
baronial  blood. 

"Magister  Wengelin,  such  was  the  teacher's  name, 
had  recently  become  rector  of  the  school  and  had  thus 
the  most  to  say.  He  was  a  very  malicious  and  un- 
reasonable man,  feared  and  hated  more  than  the  devil 
by  all  his  pupils.  Among  other  things  it  was  related 
about  him  that  it  was  his  custom  to  sit  a  whole  night 
through  at  the  tavern  engaged  in  high  play  with  some 
of  the  most  disreputable  residents  of  the  town.  The 
game,  many  times,  did  not  cease  until  seven  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  the  hour  for  the  beginning  of  our  exer- 
cises; and  the  teacher's  frame  of  mind  upon,  reaching 
the  class-room  may  be  imagined,  especially  if  he  had 
been  the  loser  of  any  considerable  sum  during  the 
night.  He  was  not  a  pleasant  one  to  meet  at  such 
times,  and  the  boys  soon  learned  to  know  whether  he 
had  been  lucky  or  a  loser.  If  the  former,  he  was  in 
a  comfortable  state  of  mind,  and  slept  most  of  the  day 
in  his  chair.  If  he  had  lost,  he  spent  his  anger  upon 
the  innocent  school-boys,  and  frightened  them,  if  not 
otherwise,  with  his  glance,  which  was  like  that  cf  an 
enraged  animal. 

"'Magister  Wengelin  was  in  bad  luck  last  night,' 
was  a  standard  expression  among  the  boys,  with  the 
significance,  'Look  out  for  the  rod!'  It  was  to  this 
monster  that  the  young  seedling  of  a  baron  made  com- 
plaint at  his  mishap.  He  had  met  him  after  a  night 
of  ill  luck,  and  in  just  the  state  of  mind  that  I  have 
described  as  usual  on  such  occasions,  and  he  at  once 
swore  to  knock  the  arms  and  legs  off  the  'vulgar  ras- 
cal.' I  was  fortunately  warned  in  good  time. 


JACOB    KRON  113 

"Before  Magister  Wengelin's  class  hour,  one  of  my 
comrades,  who  was  my  friend,  rushed  in  from  the 
street,  grasped  me  by  the  arm,  and  cried  out:  'Jacob. 
Wengelin  has  played  at  a  losing  game,  and  the  baron's 
whelp  has  complained  against  you.  They  are  walking 
together  in  the  street.  You  are  lost.  Wengelin  has 
a  terrible  look  in  his  eyes,  and  has  his  Spanish  cane 
in  his  hand.'  An  indescribable  dread  took  possession 
of  me  Already  the  teacher's  heavy  steps  were  heard 
in  the  corridor  near  the  school-room.  In  less  than  a 
minute  I  should  be  face  to  face  with  the  terror.  What 
was  to  be  done?  I  pushed  the  window  up  quickly,  and 
jumped  out  to  the  ground  at  the  instant  that  Magister 
'AVengelin  entered  the  door.  Fear  gave  me  wings.  I 
ran  to  the  poor  house  as  if  pursued  by  an  evil  spirit^ 
and  concealed  myself.  I  am  safe  here,  thought  I;  they 
will  not  dare  to  drag  me  from  the  bedside  of  my  sick 
mother. 

"But  so  it  happened,  nevertheless.  The  Magister, 
furious  at  my  escape,  sent  the  school  doorkeeper  after 
me,  and  commanded  him,  repeating  his  words,  'Bring 
him  dead  or  alive,  but  bring  him.'  At  the  coming  of 
the  doorkeeper,  I  crept,  in  my  fright,  under  my 
mother's  bed.  It  did  not  avail  me.  I  was  dragged 
forth,  and  to  school,  where  the  master  was  awaiting 
me,  stick  in  hand. 

"I  attempted  to  justify  myself.  I  tried  to  speak  of 
the  insult  I  myself  had  suffered,  but  it  was  to  no  pur_ 
pose.  The  teacher  would  not  listen  to  my  defense. 
Nothing  short  of  a  flogging  would  content  him.  'None 
of  your  reasonings,  boy,'  he  roared  in  thundering  tones. 
'If  you  do  not  at  once  hush,  I'll  flog  you  to  death.'  I 
kept  my  peace  and  swallowed  my  tears,  determined  to 
conduct  myself  brave!}',  and  boldly  returned  the  teach- 


114  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

er's  angry  frowns.  This  augmented  his  rage,  He 
rushed  upon  me  and  began  to  lash  me  unmercifully. 

"During  the  punishment,  which  lasted  a  consider- 
able time,  not  a  word  did  I  utter,  neither  did  I  make 
an  outcry,  nor  ask  for  mercy.  The  blood  streamed 
from  my  wounds,  but  I  bit  my  lips  and  remained  silent 
until,  finally  exhausted,  the  barbarian  ceased,  and  I 
resumed  my  place,  a  dreadful  silence  prevailing 
throughout  the  room." 

"That  day  was  the  beginning  of  all  my  misfortunes. 
Upon  that  day  I  began  to  understand  the  meaning  of 
hate.  Magister  Wengelin  gave  me  the  first  lesson 
therein, 

"Some  days  after  this  occurrence,  the  young  baron 
was  set  upon  in  the  streets  and  severely  beaten  by 
several  of  my  comrades,  who,  like  myself,  had  a  grudge 
against  him.  The  perpetrators  were  never  discovered. 
Suspicion  fell  upon  me,  and  though  I  was  wholly  guilt- 
less, it  was  in  vain  that  I  protested  my  innocence. 

"In  the  schools  and  gymnasiums  of  those  days,  the 
teachers  were  autocrats.  They  were  judges,  prosecutors 
and  executioners  from  whose  sentence  there  was  no 
appeal. 

"As  I  have  said,  I  protested  my  innocence,  but  ap_ 
pearances  were  against  me;  and,  in  the  end,  I  was  ex- 
pelled from  the  school." 

"More!  teli  me  more!"  cried  Maurits,  deeply  inter- 
ested in  the  mournful  childhood  history. 

"More,  yes,"  Jacob  burst  forth,  dragging  himself 
from  his  gloomy  thoughts.  "You  wish  to  hear  more, 
do  you,  my  boy?" 

"Yes,  by  all  means,"  urged  Maurits  eagerly. 

"But  I  tell  you  that  what  follows  is  dreadful." 

"No  matter;   I  will  hear  it," 


JACOB    KRON  115 

"Very  well,   listen,   then. 

"My  mother,  who  was  already  suffering  from  a  severe 
lung  trouble,  was  completely  crushed  by  the  announce- 
ment of  my  misfortune.  All  her  hopes  vanished.  Her 
dreams  of  a  future  change  in  her  fate  through  me,  dis- 
appeared like  smoke  at  the  instant  I  was  expelled 
from  school.  She  could  not  survive  the  blow.  Before 
long  I  stood  weeping  at  the  side  of  her  death-bed 
within  the  wretched  poor-house. 

"'Child,'  said  my  mother,  battling  with  death,  'I 
have  a  secret  to  intrust  to  you.  Come  nearer  to  me 
and  listen.' 

"'Jacob,  you  are  not  the  son  of  the  laborer,  Kron. 
Your  father  is  rich  and  a  man  of  distinction.  You  must 
find  him — you  must  ask  him  for  assistance  in  your 
great  need,  pocr  child. 

'Who,  then,  is  my  father!'  I  cried,  when  my 
mother  ceased  speaking.  'Tell  me  his  name  before 
you  die!' 

"With  faltering    voice    my  mother    spoke    a    name. 

"I  stood  as  one  petrified  It  was  the  name  borne  by 
the  boy  who  had  been  the  cause  of  my  expulsion  from 
school." 

''It  was  then  your  brother!  '  interrupted  Maurits 
terrified,  for  he  began  to  see  all  the  horrors  of  the 
narration.  "It  was  then  your  brother!  O,  it  is  dread- 
ful!" 

"The  play  of  fate!"   muttered  Jacob  between  his  teeth. 

"Yes,1  continued  he,  again  addressing  Maurits. 
"Yes,  it  was  my  brother  who  laid  the  foundation  to 
my  misfortunes  '' 

"More,  more!"   cried  Maurits. 

Jacob  continued: 

"'Jacob,'  said  my  mother,  when  I  made  no    answer, 


Il6  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

'your  father  is  a  very  rich  man,  and,  though  harsh  and 
severe,  he  must  certainty  be  moved  to  compassion  if 
you  show  him  this.'  With  these  words,  my  mother 
drew  from  under  the  rotten  straw  pallet  on  which  she 
was  lying  a  small  amber  heart  set  in  gold  and  attached 
to  a  black  silk  ribbon. 

"I  contemplated  with  surprise  the  jewel  of  whose 
existence  I  had  hitherto  been  entirely  ignorant. 

"'Jacob,'  continued  my  mother  with  difficulty,  'this 
amber  heart  I  received  from  your  father.  He  sent  it 
as  a  memento  of  his  love,  he  said.  After  he  had  ac- 
complished his  purpose,  he  allowed  me  to  retain  the 
jewel,  but  that  was  all  that  remained,  for  his  own 
heart  had  become  as  hard  as  this.  He  went  his  way, 
and  I  have  since  never  heard  of  him.  But  I  know 
that  he  is  an  officer  of  high  rank,  that  he  is  a  widower 
and  resides  on  an  estate  in  Weslergothland.' 

"M)1  mother  gave  me  the  name  of  the  estate. 

"'O,  what  shall  I  say  to  him?'.  I  asked. 

"'Show  him  this  heart,'  resumed  my  mother,  'the 
ornament  I  have  preserved  through  all  my  misery.  He 
will  recognize  it  readily,  for  here  on  the  gold  mount- 
ing are  engraved  two  letters,  I.  and  E.,  the  initials  of 
his  deceased  wife. 

"My  mother  handed  me  the  jewel,  and  I  concealed 
it  carefully  next  to  my  breast. 

"'Mamma,'  said  I  afterward,  'do  you  know  whether 
my  father  had  a  son  by  his  dead  wife?' 

"'No,'  answered  my  mother,  whose  strength  was  now 
spent,  'I  do  not  know.  O,  God,  I  am  dying!  Forgive 
me  and  him  who  misled  me.  Forgive  me,  you  noble 
shade  of  my  dead  husband  whom  I  deceived,  forgive 
me. ' 

"And  with  these  words  upon  her  lips  my  mother  fell 


JACOB    KRON  117 

asleep  in  eternal  rest.  I  closed  her  eyes  and  rushed 
from  the  cold,  half  dark  room." 

Jacob  was  again  silent  and  placed  his  hands  before 
his  face.  When  he  removed  them,  Maurits  perceived 
that  he  was  weeping. 

The  criminal,  calloused  by  life's  battles,  wept  at  the 
memory  of  his  mother,  for  her  who  died  in  the  poor- 
house. 

"Well,  what  followed?"  asked  Maurits,  at  the  same 
time  wiping  a  tear  from  his  own  eyes. 


CHAPTER  VII 

JACOB  KRON,    CONTINUED 

"After  my  mother's  burial,"  continued  Jacob,  "I  set 
out  on  a  tramp  for  the  purpose  of  finding  my  father. 
I  arrived,  one  cold  December  evening,  at  his  place  of 
residence,  a  large  and  beautiful  estate  in  Elfsborg 
Land,  for  my  father,  who  belonged  to  a  baronial 
family,  served,  at  that  time,  in  the  Elfsborg  regiment 
in  which  he  held  high  rank. 

"I  learned  later  that  he  had  recently  remarried  with 
a  young  lady,  to  whom  he  was  much  attached,  belong- 
ing to  a  rich  and  noble  family. 

"As  I  have  said,  I  arrived  one  winter  evening  at  the 
home  of  the  newly-wedded  pair.  It  was  in  the  midst 
of  a  severe  snow  storm  and  I  was,  therefore,  almost 
stiffened  with  cold,  and,  moreover,  had  not  eaten  any- 
thing during  the  day. 

"I  entered  the  kitchen.  Just  at  the  time,  it  was  un- 
occupied. I  seated  myself  quietly  in  a  corner  and 
waited. 

"After  a  time,  a  door  communicating  with  another 
room  was  opened,  and  a  half  grown  boy  sprang  into 
the  kitchen.  I  recognized  my  sworn  enemy,  my  half- 
brother.  He  had  ridden  home  to  spend  a  happy  Christ- 
mas with  his  parents,  while  I  had  come  on  foot,  hungry 
and  nearly  frozen,  through  the  heaped  up  snowdrifts 
to — but  wait,  you  shall  hear. 

"My  brother  did  not  perceive  me,  for  he  ran  hastily 
through  the  room  without  looking  toward  the  corner 

118 


JACOB    KROiV,     CONTINUED  I  IQ 

where  I  had  concealed  myself.  Some  minutes  there- 
after one  of  the  domestics  entered.  I  arose,  and, 
greeting  him  humbly,  asked  if  I  could  see  the  baron. 

"After  some  hesitation,  he  showed  me  up  to  the 
baron's  room,  which  was  situated  on  the  upper  floor 
of  the  house. 

"fyfy  father  sat  writing.  When  I  entered,  he  looked 
up  from  his  paper  and  asked  me  gruffly  what  I  wished. 

'Trembling,  I  produced   my  mother's    parting    gift, 
the  little  amber  heart,  stepped  nearer  to  him  and  laid' 
jt  on  the  table  before  him. 

"He  grasped  it  eagerly.  By  the  light  of  the  taper, 
I  saw  that  he  changed  color. 

'  'What  do  you  mean  by  this,  boy?'  thundered  he 
finally. 

"I  now  delivered  my  mother's  message.  I  related  to 
him  that  I  had  been  expelled  from  school  in  conse- 
quence of  a  difference  with  his  son,  my  half-brother, 
and  I  implored  him  most  pathetically  to  give  me  a 
little  aid,  otherwise  I  must  perish  of  hunger.  Can  you 
guess  my  father's  answer?" 

"No,  what  was  it?"  exclaimed  Maurits  excitedly. 

"With  perfect  tranquillity,  he  took  the  amber  heart, 
the  only  thing  of  value  I  possessed  in  the  world,  and 
put  it  into  his  pocket.  Thereupon  he  grasped  the 
bell-rope  and  rang.  A  servant  entered. 

"'Take  this  boy  and  throw  him  out  of  the  house!' 
said  my  father.  'He  has  been  bold  and  saucy.  And,' 
continued  he,  turning  to  me,  'if  you  ever  again  put 
yourrelf  in  my  sight,  rascal,  I'll  put  you  where  the 
sun  and  moon  never  shine.  Out  with  him!' 

"The  servant,  who  was  a  powerful  fellow,  caught 
me  by  the  collar  and  threw  me  out  through  the  door- 
way, then  pushed  me  down  the  stairs  out  into  the  cold 


I2O  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

winter  night  where  the  snow  whirled  around  me. 
Such  was  my  first  meeting  with  my  real  father, 
Maurits. " 

'God  in  heaven,  it  is  terrible!"  cried  Maurits,  al- 
most dumfounded  with  horror. 

'I  stood  there,"  resumed  Jacob,  "outside  my  father's 
brightly  lighted  and  cheerful-looking  home,  without  a 
roof  to  shelter  me;  without  so  much  as  a  crust  of  bread 
with  which  to  still  my  hunger,  and  nowhere  to  lay 
my  weary  head.  My  thoughts  became  bitter;  hate  took 
firm  root  within  me.  I  glanced  up  toward  the  gray 
sky,  where  heavy  snow  clouds  were  chasing  each  other 
and  no  star  was  there  to  meet  my  gaze.  I  asked  my- 
self then  for  the  first  time,  is  there  a  God  who  watches 
over  his  children? 

"The  storm  wailed.  I  thought  it  uttered  a  'no'  in 
answer  to  my  question.  Then  I  lifted  my  hand  on 
high  and  swore — swore  to  hate,  to  hate  deeply,  eter- 
nally, to  the  death,  first  and  foremost  my  father  and 
brother,  and  next  all  that  belonged  to  the  same  dam- 
nable class  as  they. 

"I  had  just  completed  my  thirteenth  year,  but  my 
studies  and  sufferings  had  prematurely  ripened  my 
understanding.  I  at  once  perfected  a  plan  for  re- 
venge. 

"I  begged  my  bread  when  I  could  not  get  work. 
Some  days  after  the  meeting  with  my  father,  I  laid  in 
ambush  for  him  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening.  When 
he  neared  me,  I  took  up  a  large  stone,  and  threw  it 
with  all  my  strength  at  his  head.  It  hit  him.  He 
fell  to  the  ground  without  uttering  a  sound.  I  sprang 
out  to  look  at  him.  He  was  not  dead,  for  I  saw 
that  he  moved.  My  senses  ran  wild.  I  stood 
meditating  the  completion  of  the  murder  when  my 


JACOB    KRON,     CONTINUED  121 

arm  was  grasped  by  a  powerful  hand.  It  was  the  same 
servant  who  had  thrown  me  downstairs,  and  who  had 
followed  his  master  at  a.  distance.  I  was  thus  caught 
in  the  very  act. 

"My  father  soon  returned  to  consciousness,  but  I 
was  cast  into  prison  to  await  my  doom.  I  was  still  a 
child,  wherefore  I  was  only  condemned  to  be  whipped 
in  public,  and  to  serve  four  years  in  a  house  of  correc- 
tion. 

"Do  you  know  what  a  house  of  correction  means, 
Mauri  ts?  " 

"No,  but  the  name  gives  me  to  understand  that  it 
is  an  institution  where  our  habits  are  corrected.  It  is 
derived,  no  doubt,  from  the  Latin  word  'corrigere. '" 

"Yes,  Maurits,  you  are  right.  It  truly  signifies  an 
institution  for  improving  one's  habits.  The  state  says 
so,  but  it  is  the  most  cruel  and  bitter  irony." 

''Why  so?" 

"Because  instead  of  a  house  of  correction  it  ought 
to  be  called  a  house  of  corruption.  Instead  of  an  in- 
stitution for  the  betterment  of  conduct,  it  ought  to  be 
called  an  institution  of  debasement.  For  if  a  particle 
of  virtue,  of  honesty,  of  conscience  remains  when  one 
is  confined  in  such  a  nest,  it  vanishes  at  once  and 
totally,  leaving  only  place  for  hate  and  revenge,  for 
crime  and  misery." 

"And  were  you  imprisoned  in  such  a  place?"  asked 
Maurits. 

"Yes,  my  boy.  First  I  received  a  public  flogging  at 
the  whipping-post  in  front  of  the  same  poor-house 
wherein  I  had  seen  my  mother  die,  and  that  in  the 
presence  of  my  former  comrades,  who  now  regarded 
me  as  an  object  of  abhorrence,  a 'fit  candidate  for  the 
gallows. 


122  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Thereafter,  I  was  confined  in  the  house  of  correc- 
tion, to  be  reformed,  ha,  ha,  ha! 

"At  the  expiration  of  four  y^ars,  passed  in  company 
with  robbers,  thieves  and  criminals  of  every  class, 
surrounded  by  fierce,  brazen  and  godless  companions 
in  misfortune,  I  was  again  thrown  into  the  streets, 
without  home,  without  relations,  and  without  means 
or  power,  by  any  honorable  pursuit,  to  earn  my  bread. 

"I  was  now  about  eighteen  years  old.  Tiie  good 
seed  that  had  been  sown  in  my  childhood  had  not  yet 
been  entirely  choked  out.  My  mind  was,  truly,  oc- 
cupied with  feelings  of  hate  and  bitterness,  but  yet  I 
would  blush  to  steal.  I  determined  to  seek  work. 

"'Where  is  your  recommendation?'  I  was  at  once 
asked  when  I  presented  myself  and  applied  for  work. 

"I  had  nothing  else  than  my  certificate  of  four  years 
service  in  the  house  of  correction  for  an  attempt  to 
murder  at  my  thirteenth  year.  I  was  turned  from  with 
abhorrence  and  allowed  to  go  my  way. 

'Everywhere,  go  where  I  would,  the  same  question, 
the  same  answer.  I  was  thrown  into  a  state  of  the 
deepest  despondency  and  misery.  I  went  to  Stock- 
holm to  seek  employment.  Even  there  1  was  refused, 
scorned,  cursed  and  kicked  out  by  everybody. 

"I  continued  to  wander  around  in  the  great,  busy 
city  some  weeks  without  a-  fixed  place  of  abode,  or 
place  to  lay  my  head,  not  knowing  one  day  whether  I 
could  sustain  my  miserable  life  on  the  morrow.  It 
was  winter  and  bitterly  cold.  I  remember  that  more 
than  one  night  I  buried  myself  in  manure  piles  to 
escape  certain  death  from  the  cold. 

"It  was  one  evening  just  at  dusk,  during  this  period 
of  wretchedness.  I  had  not  eaten  for  two  days.  My 
clothes  were  nothing  but  miserable  rags  that  scarcely 


JACOB    KRON,     CONTINUED  123 

shielded  my  wasted  and  freezing  limbs.  I  stood  upon 
the  foot  path  of  Norrhro,  and  was  looking  down  with 
longing  upon  the  swiftly  passing  water  beneath.  In 
your  keeping  I  shall  find  peace,  thought  I.  I  had  al- 
ready lifted  myself  on  my  arms,  ready  to  throw  myself 
over  the  bridge  railing  head  first  into  the  stream  when 
suddenly  a  new  thought  occurred  to  me. 

"I  heard  a  carriage  coming  with  great  speed  from 
the  direction  of  Adolf's  Square,  and  I  saw  it  take 
course  toward  the  bridge.  I  will  throw  myself  under 
the  hoofs  of  the  horses,  and  under  the  wheels  of  the 
carriage,  thought  I.  It  will  be  an  easier  method  of 
death  than  to  plunge  into  these  ice-cold  waves.  Under 
the  carriage  I  shall  be  crushed  at  once. 

"So  said,  so  done.  The  carriage  approached.  I  cast 
first  a  glance  at  its  occupants  By  the  light  of  the 
street  lamps,  I  recognized — my  father. 

"He  sat  at  the  side  of  his  young  and  beautiful  wife 
and,  on  the  back  seat,  I  discerned  in  the    young   man 
stretched     carelessly     upon    the    soft    cushions, — my 
brother. 

"Good!  cried  I  aloud,  so  much  the  better.  I  shall 
die  then  under  the  wheels  of  my  father's  carriage. 
My  blood  shall  splash  up  and  smear  his  clothes,  testi- 
fying to  his  infamous  cruelty.  I  rushed  forward  and 
cast  myself  under  the  hoofs  of  the  snorting  horses. 
The  carriage  passed  over  me. 

"'What  in  the  name  of  Satan  is  that  for  a  bundle  of 
rags  that  will  not  get  out  of  the  way!'  These  were  the 
only  words  I  heard.  The  carriage  rolled  away,  and  I 
lay  there  fainting  in  my  blood.  I  was  picked  up  by 
the  police  and  conveyed  to  a  hospital.  I  had  not  ac 
complished  my  intention,  which  was  to  die.  My 
wounds  were  healed  after  the  expiration  of  many 


124  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

weeks,  and  I  was  again  let  out  into  the  world.  It  was 
supposed  I  bad  fallen  under  the  wheels  by  accident, 
and  I  allowed  them  to  think  so. 

"I  had  seen  my  father  drive  over  me  without  troub- 
ling himself  about  it,  without  so  much  as  pausing  to 
ask  after  my  condition.  That  cold,  cruel  egoism  had 
kindled  anew  the  bitterest  hate  in  my  soul;  had  given 
me  courage  to  live— for  revenge. 

"I  will  now  skip  over  the  two  years  following  my 
discharge  from  the  hospital.  How  they  were  spent, 
I  may  at  some  other  time  inform  you.  It  is  enough 
to  say  they  were  stormy. 

"I  was  twenty  years  old  when  an  unexpected  good 
fortune  overtook  me.  I  received  an  inheritance. 

"My  mother  had  a  brother  who  b}7  his  industry  and 
frugality  had  earned  enough  to  buy  a  little  farm  in  a 
pretty  quarter  of  Westergothland.  He  died  unmarried 
and  intestate,  in  consequence  of  which  I  announced 
myself  his  their,  established  my  kinship,  and  took 
possession  of  the  little  farm. 

"Now  began  brighter  days  for  me.  I  had  acquired 
a  fixed  field  of  activity.  My  long  nourished  dream 
was  fulfilled.  I  had  found  work.  I  could  cultivate 
my  own  acres.  I  need  neither  steal  nor  beg.  I  could 
eat  my  own  bread. 

"I  turned  with  aversion  from  my  former  stormy 
manner  of  life  and  grasped  with  zeal  the  spade  and 
plow.  Ah,  my  child>  I  swear  by  the  Eternal  that  my 
inclinations  were  never  evil;  that  my  disposition  was 
always  for  a  life  of  honorable  employment,  like  a  mag- 
net attracted  to  the  polar  star.  It  is  not  I  that  am 
responsible  for  the  swerving,  it  is  fate;  it  is  mankind, 
its  slave,  it  is  the  public,  its  personification. 

"For  two  years  I  lived  on  my    little  farm,   cultivated 


JACOB    KRON,     CONTINUED  125 

my  ground,  and  between  times  read,  for  my  old  incli- 
nation to  study  was  again  awakened.  I  procured  books 
and  resumed  my  studies  where  I  had  stopped  when 
expelled  from  school. 

"Work  and  prosperity  moderated  my  hate  against  the 
rich,  although  the  recollections  of  my  sufferings  were 
always  bitter.  I  even  came  in  time,  that  I  could, 
from  my  porch,  see  my  titled  brother,  in  the  brilliant 
uniform  of  the  guards,  ride  past  without  experiencing 
a  temptation  to  rush  upon  him  or  speak  to  him.  I 
could  look  upon  him  with  pity  and  contempt. 

"I  ought  to  state  here  that  the  property  I  had  in- 
herited was  situated  only  a  few  miles  from  my  father's 
place  of  residence.  So  it  happened  that  I  often  saw 
my  noble  brother  ride  past.  He  on  his  part  some- 
times cast  an  indifferent  glance  at  my  cottage  and 
myself,  but  did  not  recognize  me. 

"I  had,  as  I  have  said,  lived  two  years  on  my  little 
estate,  when  I  fell  in  love  with  a  young  and  beautiful 
girl  whose  parents,  very  poor  peasants,  lived  in  a 
neighboring  village. 

"Johanna,  for  so  my  chosen  one  was  named,  was  not 
indisposed  to  the  union,  and  when  I  asked  for  her 
hand,  she  fell  upon  my  neck  and  promised  me  eternal 
fidelity. 

"We  were  married.  My  young  wife  entertained  for 
me,  so  I  believed,  a  love  above  all  else,  and  sweet- 
ened my  life  with  her  gentle  solicitude  for  my  com- 
fort. 1,  who  had  before  hated  the  world,  began  now 
to  love  it.  Even  my  hate  toward  my  father  began  to 
moderate. 

"So  passed  a  number  of  happy  months,  as  it  were 
in  a  dream;  daily  my  love  for  my  beautiful  Johanna 
was  intensified- 


126  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"To  procure  money,  I  went  often  to  the  nearest  city 
to  dispose  of  the  products  of  my  land.  On  these  oc. 
casions  I  was  sometimes  absent  over  night,  for  the 
city  was  a  considerable  distance  from  my  home. 

"One  day,  it  was  in  autumn,  said  I  to  my  wife: 
"Johanna,  I  shall  go  in  the  morning  to  dispose  of  a 
ton  or  so  of  rye.  You  need  not  look  for  my  return  be- 
fore the  day  after  to-morrow.  You  must  console  your- 
self as  best  you  can,  my  good  wife.' 

"'So  be  it,  Jacob,'  she  answered.  'I  will,  mean- 
while, mount  the  warp  and  begin  your  shirts.  But  do 
not  stay  too  long,  for  it  is  very  tedious  when  you  are 
away. ' 

"I  kissed  my  young  wife  for  these  words.  The  fol- 
lowing day,  I  set  out  at  daybreak,  arriving  in  the  city 
before  noon. 

"I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  find  a  purchaser  without 
delay,  and,  having  no  other  business  in  the  city,  I  de- 
termined to  return  at  once  to  my  home. 

"I  was  as  happy  as  a  child  with  the  prospect  of  a 
glad  surprise  for  my  beautiful  wife,  who  would  not  be 
expecting  me. 

"I  reached  my  home  sometime  after  sunset.  Quiet- 
ly I  stabled  my  horse,  and  then  crept  forward  on  tip- 
toe to  the  cottage  .window  in  order  to  see  undisturbed? 
my  Johanna  as  I  expected  she  would  appear  to  me  in 
her  loveliness.  You  may  guess  the  sight  that  met  my 
view.  No,  no, — you  cannot  comprehend  it,  it  is  too 
terrible!" 

Again  Jacob  Kron  was  overwhelmed  by  his  feelings. 
This  memory  seemed  to  be  the  most  painful  of  all. 
He  was  silent  while  the  restrained  tears  welled  up  in 
his  eyes  which  were  fixed  steadfastly  and  vacantly  upon 
the  ground. 


JACOB    KROX,     CONTINUED  127 

"What  did  you  see?"  asked  Maurits  anxiously, 
awaiting  a  continuation.  "O,  say,  was  your  wife 
dead?" 

"Dead!  "  exclaimed  Jacob,  grasping  the  child  by  the 
arm  and  fastening  his  awful  burning  eyes  upon  him. 
"I  saw  rny  wife  in  another's  arms  and  he  my  brother!" 

"Great  God!     He  again!" 

"The  play  of  fate!"  hissed  Jacob  between  his  teeth, 
"But  listen  further;  I  do  not  know  what  I  thought, 
what  I  felt  at  that  terrible  instant.  My  heart  that  had 
already  been  made  to  bleed  from  so  many  wounds  was 
crushed  at  one  blow.  I  remember  only  that  I  pressed 
my  corpse-like  face  hard  against  the  window  pane, 
and  fastened  "my  eyes  with  an  empty,  staring  expres- 
sion upon  the  two  persons  in  the  room. 

"My  brother  had  folded  my  wife  in  his  arms.  He 
kissed  her.  It  was  as  if  a  glowing  iron  pierced  my 
soul  at  the  sight,  but  I  made  no  movement.  I  was  as 
if  nailed  to  the  ground. 

"Suddenly  I  heard  my  wife  utter  a  cry  of  horror, 
and  saw  her,  staggering,  fall  into  a  chair,  while  with 
a  terrified  look  she  pointed  toward  the  window. 

"My  brother  turned  around.  My  face,  awfully  con- 
torted with  pain  and  rage,  hard  pressed  against  the 
window  pane,  appeared  to  strike  him  also  with  ter- 
ror. Our  glances  met  for  a  second.  There  blazed  a 
world  of  hate  in  mine,  so  much  I  felt.  Before  I  could 
make  a  movement,  my  brother  had  thrown  open  a 
door  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  house  from  where  I 
stood,  rushed  out,  thrown  himself  upon  his  horse  and 
was  away. 

"I  heard  the  sound  of  hoofs,  saw  the  rider  fly  past 
on  the  highway.  If  I  had  had  a  gun  in  my  hands  that 
ride  would  have  been  his  last  on  earth.  But  now,  my 


128  THE    PLAY     OF    FATE 

anger,  my  despair,  unnerved  me,  and  I  was  forced  to 
allow  him  to  escape. 

"I  was  crushed.  My  heart  was  dead.  I  possessed 
nothing  now  for  which  to  live,  but  revenge. 

"I  entered  my  home.  My  wife  sat  half  swooning  by 
the  window.  At  my  entrance  she  sprang  up,  bared 
her  breast,  and  reached  me  a  knife  saying: 

"'I  have  deceived  you,  Jacob,  stab  me  here!  ' 

"'No,'  answered  I,  'but  go  from  my  presence,  you 
wretch!' 

"I  took  her  in  my  arms,  and  threw  her  out  of  the 
door.  Her  tears,  her  prayers  served  only  to  augment 
my  rage. 

"The  following  day  I  sold  my  farm  and  fled.  My 
good  resolutions  were  destroyed  by — fate. 

"I  have  since  wandered  the  world  over,  Mauri ts, 
like  the  shoe-maker  of  Jerusalem,  unable  to  find  a 
refuge  on  earth  or  peace  of  heart. 

"How  I  lived  during  that  time,  of  that  I  will  not 
speak.  It  is  enough  that  I  availed  myself  of  every  op- 
portunity for  revenge.  And  I  shall  hereafter  allow  no 
chance  that  is  offered  to  escape  me." 

"And  your  brother?  What  became  of  him?"  asked 
Maurits. 

'  He  is  dead,"  returned  Jacob  gloomily;  "he  died  by 
the  bullet  of  an  assassin,  here,  on  this  spot." 

"What  do  you  say!"  burst  forth  the  boy  with  a 
shudder.  "Was  it  he  who  fell  here?  And  by  whose 
hand?" 

"His  murderer  has  never  been  discovered." 

"What  was  your  brother's  name?" 

"I  have  sworn  never  to  utter  that  hated  name," 
answered  Jacob.  ''Therefore  do  not  ask  me," 

"And  your  father,  does  he  still  live?" 


JACOB    KRON,    CONTINUED  I2Q 

"My  father  live?  Yes,  he  lives!"  exclaimed  Jacob 
in  tones  of  suppressed  rage.  "He  lives  and  is  of  a 
piece  with  his  son." 

"Does  he  reside  in  Westergothland?" 

"No,  he  has  taken  leave,  and  gone  to  Stockholm. 
He  is  rich,  has  a  beautiful  wife  and  two  children.  He 
is  respected  and  highly  esteemed  in  the  world,  while 
I,  his  son, — death  and  damnation!" 

"Your  history  is  frightful,  terrible!"  resumed  Maurits' 
after  a  short  silence.    "I  do  not,  of  course,  yet  compre- 
hend all  its  horrors,  but  this    much  I    do    understand, 
that  the  world  and  mankind  have    treated    you    worse 
than  a  dog. " 

"Yes,  my  child,"  returned  Jacob,  "you  are  right, 
and  your  unusual  intelligence  for  one  of  your  years 
has  made  me  desire  to  impart  it  to  you,  I  said  I  be- 
lieved I  should  do  you  a  service,  and  I  cannot  deny 
that  I  still  so  believe;  for  in  childhood  the  whole  world 
appears  good,  all  mankind  seems  to  be  endowed  with 
the  same  purity  as  himself,  and  he  is,  therefore,  often 
cruelly  deceived,  wounded,  trampled  under  foot  as  I 
have  been.  It  is  beautiful  to  be  good,  unselfish  and 
helpful,  but  possessing  only  these,  one  is  a  defense- 
less prey  to  evil,  cruelty  and  avarice.  He  is  like  the 
lamb  that  is  torn  to  pieces  by  the  wolves.  If  one 
would  escape  this  fate,  he  must  be  able  to  battle  for 
himself.  It  is  this  that  I  would  teach  you." 

"But  do  you  believe,  then,  that  all  the  rich  are 
equally  wicked  and  unfeeling  with  your  father  and 
brother,  and  the  gentleman  who  treated  me  so  ill? 
Do  you  not  believe  that  there  are  to  be  found  honorr 
able  aid  estimable  men  even  among  the  rich?" 

"I  do  not  question  that  there  are  some,  for  there  is 
no  rule  to  which  there  is  not  an  exception.  But  wealth 


I3O  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

has  that  in  it  that  begets  wicked  desires,  lust  and  self- 
love.  There  is  no  gift  of  fate  that  is  in  a  like  degree 
corrupting.  It  is  quite  natural  and  easily  explained. 
For  think  you  a  child  that  is  reared  in  the  lap  of 
luxury,  surrounded  by  all  that  wealth  can  buy  or  fancy 
desire,  possesses  the  most  refinement,  the  greatest  ten- 
derness? Think  you  a  child  that  passes  its  early  years 
in  the  fixed  certainty  that  sometime,  without  seek- 
ing, without  effort  or  consideration  on  his  part,  he  will 
come  into  a  rich  inheritance,  ever  attains  to  great  abil- 
ity? Can  there  be  anything  more  corrupting,  more  un- 
reasonable than  that  the  state  leaves  a  portion  of  its 
children  in  that  certainty,  while  it  says  to  the  rest, 
work!  work!  work!  and  yet  you  shall  not  gain  so  much 
as  a  roof  over  your  head,  a  crust  of  bread  to  still  your 
hunger!" 

"Certainly  not,  but  we  cannot  help  that  Providence 
has  dealt  so  unequally." 

"We  cannot  help  it;  yes,  so  say  they  all.  I  tell  you 
it  can  be  helped!" 

"And  in  what    way?" 

"I  do  not  say  that  it  can  be  wholly  avoided,"  re- 
sumed Jacob.  "No,  there  will  alwa)Ts  be  a  difference, 
a  great  unfathomable  gulf,  between  different  individ- 
uals. On  the  one  side  is  intelligence,  genius,  industry* 
talent  and  virtue;  on  the  other  ignorance,  indolence, 
sloth  and  crime. 

"I  will  continue  this  figure  and  endeavor  to  make  it 
plain  to  you  how  it  is,  and  how  it  might  be.  The  gulf 
cannot  be  filled,  said  I ;  then  mankind  may  struggle, 
but  never  overcome  fate,  which  caused  the  gulf.  But 
if,  however,  it  cannot  be  filled,  bridges  may,  neverthe- 
less,be  built  over  it. 

"You  look  at  me  doubtingly;  you  do  not    grasp    my 


JACOB    KRON,    CONTINUED  13! 

meaning,  or  you  think, perhaps,  that  my  representation 
is  illogical.      Well,  I  will  explain  myself. 

"I  said  I  would  show  you  how  it  is  and  how  it  could 
be.  Thus  then — over  the  gulf  that  cannot  be  filled 
there  is  at  present  no  bridge  upon  which  they  who 
stand  on  the  dark  side  may  go  over  to  the  light  if  they 
desire.  Such  a  bridge  can  only  be  built  upon  the  in- 
visible arches  of  an  infinite  love  that  strives  to  restore 
what  fate  has  destroyed;  that  hastens  to  stretch  a  help- 
ing hand  to  the  fallen.  Well,  is  there  no  such  love? 
Are  there  none  among  the  white  children  who  will 
reach  his  black  brother  the  hand?  I  do  not  dispute  that 
there  is.  Such  a  love  exists.  They  would  conduct 
the  unfortunate  outcast  to  the  bright,  the  happy  side. 
They  would  cheer,  comfort  and  help.  I  don't  deny 
that,  but  their  efforts  miscarry.  Their  half  finished 
work  is  demolished  with  each  effort,  and  why?  For,  to- 
gether with  virtue,  genius  and  talent,  on  that  other  and 
brighter  side  of  the  gulf,  is  a  fourth  power,  wealth. 
It  is  this  that  destroys  the  bridges  which  the  love  of 
the  others  impelled  them  to  build,  and  to  such  an' ex- 
tent has  this  demoralization  reached  that  wealth  is 
mightier  than  them  all. 

"That  power  destroys  the  works  of  the  others,  I 
have  said.  Yes,  because  it  will  get  as  near  to  absolute 
rule  as  possible.  It  fears  the  ragamuffin  and  the  pro 
letariat  more  than  the  pest;  for,thinks  he,  if  they  come 
over  to  our  side  they  will  want  me  to  share  with  them, 
but  I  will  not  hear  of  a  division.  And  thus  the 
pariahs  of  the  community,  the  unfortunate,  the  igno- 
rant, the  hungering,  the  criminal  and  all  remain  in 
their  nightlike  darkness.  There  comes  no  friendly 
hand  to  lead  them  over  the  abyss,  for  the  hand  that 
Christian  love  stretches  forth  is  enfeebled  by  self-love. 


132  THE    PLAY   OF    FATE 

"So  it  is,  my  child,  so  to  a  certain  extent  it  will 
always  be.  We  cannot  help  it." 

"But  you  said  just  now  that  it  could  be  helped,"  re- 
turned Maurits. 

"In  a  measure,  .yes,"  resumed  Jacob.  "It  might  in 
some  degree  be  helped  in  this  manner — by  virtue, 
genius  and  talent  banding  together  and  accomplishing 
its  overthrow.  In  a  word,  by  all  mankind  becoming 
enlightened  with  a  higher  law  of  reason  and  love  that 
would  not  yield  every  field  to  egoism.  That  were  a  law 
of  brotherhood,  of  equality,  and  if  that  could  not  be 
obeyed  by  all,  much,  nevertheless,  would  be  gained,  if 
it  were  proclaimed.  In  a  state  where  such  a  law  pre- 
vailed, there  would  be  neither  rich  nor  poor.  All 
would  have  the  right  to  work,  and  to  retain  what  they 
earned  by  their  labor,  but  nothing  more.  So  it  might 
be,  Maurits.  It  is  possible;  but  that  is  all,  for  I  am 
not  so  foolish  as  to  believe  that  such  an  idea  will  ever 
be  realized." 

"I  do  not  understand  you  perfectly,"  said  the  boy, 
"but  my  heart  tells  me  that  you  are  right  in  much,  if 
not  also  in  all." 

"I  have  told  you,  boy,  that  what  you  do  not  now  un 
derstand,  you  will  sometime  in  the  future,  when  you 
have  gone  through  life's  bitter  school.  It  is  not  to  the 
child  of  to-day  that  I  would  talk,  it  is  to  the  coming 
youth  and  the  mature  man.  But  our  conversation  has 
been  already  too  much  prolonged.  It  is  late  and  your 
poor  mother  will  be  uneasy.  Take  your  bundle  and 
go.  We  shall  meet  again  perhaps,  but  do  not  forget 
what  I  have  said.  Hate,  a  bloody  and  irreconcilable 
hate,  against  wealth  and  its  unworthy  possessors." 

With  these  words  Jacob  arose  and  prepared  to  go. 
Maurits  hastily  gathered  his  load,  laid  it  over  his 


JACOB    KRON,    CONTINUED  133 

shoulder,  and  by  the  side  of  the  stranger  left  the  grave 
of  the  murdered  man. 

"Farewell,  Maurits,"  said  Jacob,  when  they  again 
stood  upon  the  highway.  "Our  paths  lead  indifferent 
directions,  but_do  not  forget  what  you  have  heard." 

"Never!"     exclaimed     the    boy    earnestly.     "I    shall 
never  forget  this  evening  and  your  horrible  narrative. 
Farewell!" 

Maurits  hastened  with  swift  pace  toward  his  home, 
while  Jacob  remained  standing  in  the  road  looking 
after  him. 

"What  will  mamma  say?"  thought  the  boy.  "I  have 
been  so  long  away  that  she  must  surely  be  very  uneasy 
about  me.  And  shall  I  tell  her  all  that  has  happened 
me  this  evening?" 

These  thoughts  were  sore  disturbers  of  the  boy's 
soul.  On  the  one  hand,  he  did  not  wish  to  conceal 
anything  from  his  mother,  and  on  the  other,  he  feared 
her  displeasure  if  he  should  inform  her  that  he  had 
again  met  the  red-head,  against  whom  she  had  warned 
him.  It  was,  therefore,  not  without  a  little  trepi- 
dation that  Maurits  entered  the  hut  where  the  poor 
mother  was  still  at  work  by  the  light  of  her  lamp. 

Mrs.  Sterner,  however,  made  no  observation,  for 
when  she  saw  the  flowers  that  the  boy  had  brought, 
she  thought  he  had  been  the  whole  time  employed  in 
their  gathering. 

Maurits  said  nothing,  therefore,  having  no  dispo- 
sition to  grieve  his  mother  with  an  account  of  his 
meeting  in  the  forest. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ODENSVIK 

Count  Stjernekrantz,  the  wealthy  heir  to  the  mag- 
nificent estate  of  Odensvik,  had  finally,  as  we  have 
seen  in  a  preceding  chapter,  returned  from  his  extend- 
ed foreign  travels  to  take  possession  of  his  father's  pal- 
ace. 

Eberhard  had  rambled  far  and  wide  since  we  saw 
him  that  terrible  evening  in  Tyrol  on  "Death's  Cliff." 
He  had,  "hunted  by  his  fate,"  as  he  said, visited  Italy's 
and  Sicilia's  luxuriant  valleys;  had  sailed  across  the 
Mediterranean  Sea  to  the  story  land  of  the  Orient;  had 
carved  his  name  upon  the  trunks  of  the  cedars  of 
Lebanon,  and  slept  in  the  shade  of  Afric's  palms.  In 
a.  word,  he  had  enjoyed. 

He  had  at  length  returned  to  Europe,  hastening 
through  the  flowery  lands  of  Spain  and  France  toward 
the  world's  capital,  civilization's  center,  Paris. 

In  Paris  he  had  resided  a  winter,  but,  by  the  com. 
ing  of  the  spring,  he  had  tired  of  its  pleasures,  and, 
taking  his  staff  in  hand,  set  out  on  foot  up  the  banks 
of  the  noble  Rhine,  accompanied  only  by  a  French- 
man, whose  friendship  he  had  recently  won. 

All  through  the  summer  he  wandered  over  Germany, 
but  when  the  autumn  approached,  he  determined  to 
return  home,  spend  the  winter  .in  Sweden  and  take 
possession  of  his  rich  estates.  Eberhard  was  hardly 
twenty-three  years  old,  but  he  had,  nevertheless,  so 
early  begun  to  be  satiated  with  life.  He  was  already 

134 


ODENSVIK  135 

what  the  Frenchman  would  call,  "un  homme  blase"." 
Two  years  of  incessant  revel  in  all  the  pleasures  that 
the  nature  of  the  southern  lands  could  devise,  had,  as 
is  usual,  left  after  it  satiety  and  aversion. 

The  count  must  needs  rest  and  renew  his  strength. 
He  therefore  journeyed  home  to  "philosophise  over 
life  in  the  forests  of  Vermland,"  as  he  put  it. 

Count  Eberhard  was  a  fatalist  in  the  broadest  sig- 
nificance of  the  term.  We  have  described  already,  in 
Jacob  Kron,  a  representative  of  this  class,  but  the 
reader  may,  perhaps,  see  that  beween  the  fatalism  of 
these  two  persons  there  is  a  wide  difference. 

The  fatalist,  not  the  Greek  but  the  modern,  has 
either  his  support  in  an  actual  and,  it  would  seem 
irremediable  incongruity  in  life,  an  incongruity  which 
crushes  the  hopes  of  our  youth,  foils  our  efforts  even 
for  good,  and  casts  us  helpless  into  the  abyss  of 
misery  and  crime;  or,  also,  it  is  only  a  theory,  which 
a  mind  prone  to  depravity  sets  up  for  itself  in  order 
to  silence  its  own  conscience  with  Plato's  tenet,  "It 
was  my  fate. " 

These  two  cases  are  seen  to  be  in  a  converse  rela- 
tion to  each  other,  for,  as  it  is  misfortune,  suffering, 
misery  and  the  resultant  crime  that  in  the  first  leads 
to  such  views,  so  it  is  the  actual  opinions  that  lead  to 
the  misfortunes,  sufferings  arid  crime  in  the  latter. 

Eberhard  Stjernekrantz  was  not  a  practical  fatalist. 
No  material  misfortune,  no  great  mental  affliction  had 
ever  befallen  him.  Reared  in  the  bosom  of  an  almost 
princely  wealth,  he  had  from  childhood  accustomed 
himself  to  have  all  his  wishes  gratified,  for  he  had  a 
weak  and  childish  mother,  whom  he  had  ruled  already 
as  a  boy;  and  when,  later  on,  he  would  enjoy  the 
same  freedom,  he  came  into  conflict  with  a  will 


136  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

stronger  than  his  own,  his  father's,  he  raved  and 
cursed  the  fate  that  denied  him  his  liberty.  At  that 
time  Eberhard  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  a 
foreigner,  a  Frenchman,  who,  in  some  manner  related 
to  the  deceased  Count  Stjernekrantz,  had  come  to  visit 
the  home  of  Eberhard's  father  in  Vermland. 

This  acquaintance  had  laid  the  foundation  of  the 
ungodliness  so  early  manifested  in  the  )'oung  man's 
soul.  Reared  under  the  storms  of  revolutions,  M. 
Crispin,  such  was  the  foreigner's  name,  had  seen  his 
first  youth  break  into  a  time  when  religion  was  no 
longer  acknowledged  in  his  fatherland;  he  had  fol- 
lowed the  chariot  whereupon  the  street  nymph  who 
should  represent  the  goddess  of  reason  during  the 
jubilee  of  the  mass,  was  conveyed  in  triumph  to  Notre 
Dame.  He  had  seen  Marat  cast  himself  upon  the 
ground  during  a  heavy  thunder  storm,  and  had  heard 
him  cry  out,  "If  there  be  a  God,  let  him  slay  me  with 
his  lightning,  or  I  will  den}'  his  existence." 

'M.  Crispin  had  entertained  the  opinions  of  the  most 
ardent  atheists  ever  since  Napoleon's  edict  had  re- 
established religion  in  France.  These  opinions  he 
had  carried  with  him  to  Sweden,  and  as  he  had  found 
in  the  young  count  Stjernekrantz  a  willing  and  at- 
tentive pupil,  he  had  undertaken,  during  the  time  he 
dwelt  at  Odensvik,  to  initiate  the  youth  into  the 
system.  - 

They  had  studied  Voltaire  and  Diderot  together,  and 
had  philosophized  over  their  writings.  These  dreadful 
teachings  could  but  bear  dreadful  fruit. 

The  estate  of  Odensvik  was  one  of  the  largest  in 
Vermland.  The  principal  edifice,  constructed  of  stone, 
and  dating  from  the  middle  of  the  iyth  century,  lay 
upon  a  hill  near  the  banks  of  Lake  Wener,  and  was 


ODENSVIK  137 

surrounded  on  two  sides  by  a  large  and  shady  park, 
the  trees  in  which  were  for  the  most  part  oak.  On  one 
side,  that  facing  the  lake,  terrace  after  terrace  descend- 
ed to  its  bank.  This  was  the  nobleman's  garden,  and 
.In  truth  one  of  the  most  extensive  and  elegantly  laid 
out  in  that  region.  The  immense  greenhouse,  reared 
at  the  foot  of  the  extensive  terraces,  was  filled  with 
rarest  plants,  brought  from  the  balmy  air  of  the  tropics, 
or  the  rich  valleys  of  Southern  Europe.  Here  were  to 
be  seen  Calla  .rEtiopica,  with  its  snow  white  flowers, 
by  the  side  of  the  beautiful  red  blossoms  of  a  Cactus 
Speciosa.  There  were  trees  laden  with  pomegranates, 
lemons  and  apricots  that  glistened  among  the  luxu- 
riant green  leaves,  while  the  vine  with  its  swelling 
grapes  wound  itself  around  their  trunks. 

Fountains  played  in  the  la«-n,  and  cast  their  glitter- 
ing pearls  into  marble  basins  around  which  semi-nude 
Naiads,  carved  in  marble,  kept  guard. 

On  the  fourth  side  of  the  building  was  a  spacious 
field  from  which  led  an  avenue  bordered  with  high 
oaks,  and  at  the  end  of  a  half  mile,  more  or  less,  en- 
tered the  great  highway. 

Odensvik  was  joined  on  one  side  by  the  estate  of 
Liljedahl,  to  which  the  reader  has  already  been  intro- 
duced. The  latter  lay,  however,  farther  southward, 
where,  as  we  know,  its  chief  buildings  were  reared 
upon  a  point  of  land  jutting  into  Lake  Wener. 

Botli  estates  were  in  view  from  the  road  which 
passed  the  home  of  Mrs.  Sterner,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  little  village  of  which  her  hut  was  a  part. 

Thus,  on  the  east  and  west  sides,  Odensvik  was 
surrounded  by  the  aforementioned  oak  park.  This 
park  was  watered  by  canals,  and  was  traversed  in 
many  directions  by  these  waterways,  centering  in  the 


138  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

eastern  part  in  the  middle  of  the  park  around  a  spot 
covered  with  high  and  thick  foliaged  trees  surrounded 
with  an  iron  trellis  where  Count  Eberhard's  mother 
lay  entombed.  Within  this  enclosure  was  a  broken 
column  of  white  marble,  with  only  these  words  carved 
upon  it,  "Matilda  Stjernekrantz. " 

It  was  in  accordance  with  the  wishes  of  the  deceased 
countess  that  she  was  buried  in  this  spot.  The  place 
had  been  well  cared  for,  and  Eberhard  had,  after  his 
return  home,  commanded  that  the  column  should  be 
daily  hung  with  fresh  flowers  from  the  greenhouse, 
for  the  unnatural  son,  though  he  had  murdered  his 
father,  was  touched,  nevertheless,  with  a  feeling  of 
love  at  thought  of  the  mother  who  had  spoiled  him. 

It  was  evening,  the  day  after  the  incidents  of  the 
last  chapter.  In  one  of  those  golden,  leaf  covered 
paths,  that  tended  toward  the  mausoleum,  two  men, 
clad  in  promenade -capes,  might  have  been  seen  walk- 
ing back  and  forth. 

The  hour  was  half  after  four.  The  sun  was  inclined 
already  toward  the  west,  while  the  autumn  evening 
was  unusually  mild  and  clear.  The  crowns  of  the 
trees  shone  like  gold  in  the  rays  of  the  evening  sun, 
and  now  and  then  a  flower  that  had  not  been  overtak- 
en by  the  frost  fell  at  their  feet. 

One  of  the  promenaders  appeared  to  be  a  man  of 
about  middle  age,  small  in  stature,  but  strong  and 
muscular  in  build.  In  his  face  was  expressed  more 
than  ordinary  energy,  and  his  dark  eyes  glowed  with 
a  fire  out  of  which  genius  blazed.  A  bountiful  head 
of  brown  hair  surrounded  his  broad  forehead,  upon 
which,  however,  suffering  and  passion  had  plowed  their 
furrows  here  and  there.  This  person  was  M.  Crispin, 
the  aforementioned  Frenchman,  whom  Eberhard  had 


ODENSVIK  139 

again  found  in  Paris,  and  had  induced  to  follow  him 
to  Sweden. 

The  two  gentlemen  had  now  arrived  at  the  mausoleum, 
where  they  came  to  a  bench.  "Let  us  sit  down,  my  dear 
Crispin,"  said  the  younger  of  them,  who  was  no  other 
than  Eberhard;  "I  feel  tired  of  this  continual  going 
back  and  forth." 

The  two  seated  themselves  upon  the  bench. 

"On  this  spot,"  began  the  Frenchman,  after  a  short 
silence,  "we  sat  a  few  years  ago  and  read  Voltaire's 
La  Pucclh'.  Do  you  recall  it?" 

"Yes,  you  were  a  capital  teacher." 

"And  in  the  midst  of  our  reading  we  were  surprised 
by  your  father,  who,  full  of  indignation,  took  the  book 
and  strictly  forbade  me  to  allow  you  to  read  such  god- 
less and  trifling  writings.  Your  good  father  did  not 
know  how  to  appreciate  Voltaire's  genius,  Eber- 
hard." 

"No,"  replied  the  count,  "my  father  was  a  very 
practical  man,  I  must  admit." 

"But  he  came,  however,  to  a  very  romantic  end,  ac- 
cording to  your  narration,"  resumed  Crispin.  "You 
were  present  at  the  instant  he  fell  inio  the  Inn,  I  be- 
lieve?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Eberhard,  shuddering,  "I  was  pres- 
ent. " 

"And  you  could  not  help  him?" 

"No,  no,  but  let  us  leave  this  mournful  subject. 
My  father  rests  quietly  on  the  bottom  of  the  Inn;  let 
him  sleep  in  peace." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Crispin,  thoughtfully,  "you  are  right. 
May  the  dead  repose  in  quiet.  They  will  not  haunt 
us.  Man  lives  and  dies,  and  that  is  the  end  of  him." 

"Yes,"  said  Eberhard,  "the    law  of    annihilation    is 


140  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

written  for  all.  It  is  the  utmost  link  in  necessity's 
chain.  Ah,  my  friend,  what  playthings  we  are." 

"Truly,"  answered  the  Frenchman,  fastening  his 
dark,  piercing  eyes  on  Eberhard,  "truly  we  are  play- 
things, as  you  say,  but  there  are,  however,  others 
weaker  than  we  with  whom  we  may  play.  The  laws 
of  the  world  govern  mankind,  but  men,  among  them- 
selves, rise  one  above  another,  rule  each  other,  for  a 
time,  by  force.  But  the  law  of  force  is  to  crush  every 
obstacle  that  interposes,  until  you  are  yourself  crushed 
by  one  mightier.  And  what  is  it  that  invests  us  with 
strength,"  continued  Crispin,  "other  than  gold  and  in- 
telligence? Virtue,  they  say.  I  deny  it.  I  know  no  virt- 
ue—that is  to  say,  none  that  the  moralists  so  admire. 
I  have  seen  those  that  the  world  has  called  the  most 
honorable  fall  a  sacrifice  to  their  virtues.  I  have 
stood  at  the  font  of  the  scaffold  of  Louis  XVI  and 
Marie  Antoinette.  I  have  seen  a  thousand  paragons  of 
virtue  dye  the  ax  with  their  blood,  while  strength  and 
understanding  went  victoriously  on.  Louis  XVI  fell, 
said  I.  What  for?  Because  he  was  what  is  called 
an  honorable  man,  a  model  of  virtue  and  probity. 
Louis  XIV,  in  contrast,  sat  securely  on  his  throne  for 
fifty  years,  while  he  was  a  conscienceless  but  powerful 
man,  who  would  resort  to  any  expedient — and  he  M!IO 
would  rule  must  possess  no  conscience,  have  no  re- 
ligion." 

"But  Napoleon  fell,"  interrupted  Eberhard. 

"Yes,  because  he  went  to  the  opposite  extreme;  be- 
cause he  defied  fate  itself.  He  fell  through  extrava- 
gant presumption;  for,  mark  you,  a  strength  that  is 
not  governed  by  intelligence,  must  finally  succumb. 
The  bow-string  breaks  if  stretched  too  hard.  But  by 
a  moderate  application  of  strength  it  is  given  power 


ODENSVIK  141 

to  speed  the  death-dealing  missile.  An  excess  of  cour- 
age is  quite  as  disastrous  as  an  excess  of  uprightness, 
an  excess  of  virtue." 

"But  you  sa.d  jus.  now,"  objected  Eberhard,  "that 
all  power  must  crush  until  in  turn  it  is  crushed  by  a 
mightier.  If  the  latter  assumption  be  granted,  why 
then  make  a  limit?" 

"Understand  me  correctly,  Eberhard.  The  law  is 
fixed,  for  sooner  or  later,  all  must  be  crushed  to  death. 
But  that  time  can  often  be  hastened  or  delayed,  accord- 
ing as  calculation  directs  or  plans.  It  is  not  enough 
to  be  a  lion,  one  must  be  a  fox  as  well." 

"You  are  right,  Crispin,  and  my  objections  have  not 
arisen  from  doubt,  but  rather  from  a  desire  to  hear  you 
more  clearly  illustrate  your  theories —theories,  absurd- 
ly titled  paradoxes.  You  are  right,  and  I  will  prove 
myself  worthy  in  the  eyes  of  my  teacher." 

"But  there  must  be  no  soft  spot  in  you,  not  too 
much  of  your  mother,  although  she  was  French,  a 
child  of  the  south.  You  have  inherited  her  ardor,  for 
which  you  are  not  to  blame.  May  you  possess  with 
it  the  strength  of  the  Northman." 

"My  mother,  yes,  she  was  a  vivacious  soul.  You 
were  acquainted  with  her  in  her  youth?" 

A  strange  smile  flitted  across  the  foreigner's  lips  at 
the  count's  question;  out  of  his  eyes  flashed  fire  when 
he  answered: 

"Yes,  Eberhard,  I  was  somewhat  acquainted  with 
her.  She  was  related  to  our  family,  as  you  know." 

"In  her  early  youth  she  was  very  beautiful,  I  can 
believe,"  said  Eberhard. 

"Yes,  very  beautiful;  an  extraordinary  beauty." 

"I  remember  her  only  as  a  pale  and  seemingly  sor- 
row-bowed woman.  If  I  do  not  err,  she  must  have 


142  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

had  some  melancholy  recollection  which  undermined 
her  life." 

"Quite  possible,"  was  the  foreigner's  short  assent. 

At  that  instant,  a  servant  approached  the  place 
where  the  pair  sat  in  conversation. 

"Herr  Count,"  said  he,  addressing  Eberhard,  "there 
is  a  gentleman  at  the  house  who  wishes  to  speak  with 
you  in  private." 

"Very  well,  I'll  come." 

The  servant  went  his  way. 

"Will  you  go  with  me,  Crispin,"  asked  Eberhard, 
"or  will  you  await  my  return  here?" 

"Go,  I  will  wait." 

Eberhard  departed. 

When  he  was  no  longer  in  sight,  the  foreigner  arose 
from  the  bench,  crossed  his  arms  over  his  breast  and 
stood  contemplating  steadfastly  the  monument,  and 
the  inscription  thereon. 

"Matilda  Stjernekrantz!  "  said  he  slowly,  to  himself. 
"You  deceived  me.  You  chose  another,  although  a 
bond  of  gratitude  should  have  made  you  mine.  Al- 
though I,  at  the  peril  of  my  life,  rescued  you  and  your 
family  from  death  upon  the  scaffold,  although  you  had 
sworn  fidelity  to  me,  your  oath  flew  away  with  the 
wind  and  you  deceived  me.  Woe  untO)'ou!  for  I  have 
been  revenged.  Not  upon  you,  but  upon  your  son, 
your  heart's  idol.  He  has  paid  the  penalty.  You  died 
with  the  terrible  certainty,  for  I  had  whispered  it  in 
your  ears,  and  you  knew  that  Crispin  always  keeps  his 
word. 

"Here,  at  the  foot  of  the  grave,  false  woman,  here  I 
have  planted  the  seeds  of  destruction  in  his  mind.  It 
was  not  difficult,  for  he  is  of  a  piece  with  his  mother. 
Here  I  have  initiated  him  into  that  cold,  that  fearful 


ODENSVIK  143 

egoism  that  shall  sooner  or  later  bring  him  to  a  prec- 
ipice over  which  I  shall  push  him,  helpless,  and  with- 
out compassion.  Then  I'll  laugh  with  scorn  and  say, 
it  is  the  play  of  fate.  The  curse  of  the  mother's  crime 
breeds  over  the  son. " 

A  fire  of  hellish  joy  lighted  up  the  foreigner's  dark 
countenance  as  he  thus  spoke.  Turning  away,  he 
wrapped  his  cape  closer  about  his  shoulders,  and  re- 
turned slowly  to  the  castle. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE    AMBER  HEART 

Having  now  given  a  hasty  sketch  of  the  principal 
characters  in  our  narrative,  we  will,  with  the  reader's 
permission,  pass  over  a  period  of  about  four  years, 
during  which  little  of  importance  occurred. 

After  a  few  months'  sojourn  in  his  fatherland,  Eber- 
hard  Stjernekrantz,  accompanied  by  his  teacher,  M. 
Crispin,  set  out  anesv  upon  his  wanderings  over  the 
continent.  An  unceasing,  burning  restlessness  pur- 
sued the  patricide. 

Mrs.  Sterner  might  still  be  found  occupied  by  turns 
with  her  needle  and  wheel,  and  Maurits,  who  had  be- 
come a  large  boy  of  fourteen,  still  went  to  the  noble 
Pastor  Bergholm,  whose  favor  he  retained,  especially 
because  of  his  great  progress  in  learning  for  one  of  his 
years.  The  classmate  of  his  boyhood,  Oscar  Berg- 
holm,  his  father  seeing  the  impossibility  of  teaching 
him  Latin  and  Greek,  had  taken  employment  in  Goth- 
enberg,  where  he  was  now  a  well-established  office 
clerk.  Between  him  and  his  parents  a  lively  corre- 
spondence was  kept  up,  as  also  with  Maurits,  for 
whom  Oscar  always  entertained  a  deep  felt  affection. 

Jacob  Kron,  "the  redhead,"  had  not  again  been 
heard  of.  He  had  disappeared,  Maurits  knew  not 
where,  but  deep  and  ineffaceable  were  the  recollections 
in  his  boy's  soul  of  the  meetings  at  the  grave  of  the 
murdered  man.  Mighty  was  the  impression  that  the 
horrible  narrative  of  Jacob's  gloomy  fate  had  made 

144 


THE    AMBER    HEART  145 

upon  the  child's  mind,  and  neither  the  mother's  love 
nor  Pastor  Bergholm's  pure  Christian  spirit,  was  suffi- 
cient to  entirely  remove  its  influence. 

But  the  years  glided  by,  and  nothing  further  occur- 
ring to  remind  Maurits  of  the  haughty  and  wicked 
baron  who  was  instrumental  in  bringing  about  his 
first  meeting  with  the  red-head,  the  affronts  he  had 
suffered  had,  long  since,  lost  their  bitterness.  Child- 
hood's fancies  are,  however,  the  most  enduring.  Even 
so  with  Maurits.  He  regarded  with  aversion  and  dis- 
trust every  one  known  to  him  to  be  one  of  the  wealthy 
and  upper  class.  This  feeling  he  had,  however,  care- 
iully  concealed  within  his  breast,  for  his  instinct  told 
him  that  it  would  find  no  indulgence  either  in  his 
mother  or  his  teacher. 

It  is  a  Saturday  afternoon  in  the  early  part  of  Au- 
gust. The  sun  has  burned  hot  the  whole  day,  but  now 
toward  evening  the  air  >s  somewhat  cooler. 

Pastor  Bergholm  is  sitting  on  the  steps  before  his 
home  with  his  dear  pipe  in  his  mouth.  At  his  side  is 
Maurits,  clad  in  a  blouse  and  straw  hat,  reading  aloud 
from  a  book. 

It  is  Virgil's  /Eneid.  As  Maurits  scans,  the  pastor 
keeps  time  on  the  floor  with  his  foot. 

The  good  man  is  enraptured.  He  is  in  his  element. 
The  well-known  sound  of  the  great  poet's  thoughts 
caress  his  ears;  they  come  from  the  lips  of  a  youth 
whom  he  has  himself  educated,  whom  he  loves,  of 
whom  he  is  proud.  What  better  can  he  want? 

"  Bene  legisti,  dilectissime,"  cried  he  when  Maurits 
reached  a  pause.  "But  let  that  be  enough  now  for  a 
while.  We  must  save  some  of  that  beautiful  episode 
for  another  time.  But  what  do  you  say  to  these  lines: 


146  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"  '  Purpureus  velutiquum  flos  succiscus  aratro 
Languescit  moriens,  lassove  paparera  collo 
Demisere  caput,  quuin  pluvia  forte  gravantur.' 

What  do  you  say  to  that?"  repeated  the  pastor, 
while  his  glance  rested  with  pleasure  on  the  boy's  open 
and  well-formed  features. 

"It  is  very  beautiful.  Quite  divine,"  exclaimed 
Maurits  with  spirit.  "In  our  day  there  are  no  such 
writers." 

"No,  yet  one  must  acknowledge  that  even  our  times 
have  produced  good  poets,  though  they  copy  much 
after  those  of  former  days,  and  Germany  has  produced 
even  greater  than  ours." 

"Yes,"  said  Maurits,  "I  have  just  finished  reading 
Schiller's  -Die  Rauber, '  which  you  lent  me  last  week, 
and  nothing  more  horrid,  wilder,  and  at  the  same 
time  more  beautiful  could  be  conceived.  How  deeply 
I  am  indebted  to  my  noble  teacher,  who,  by  means  of 
the  instructions  given  me,  has  enabled  me  to  enjoy 
these  masterpieces." 

"Boy,"  resumed  the  pastor,  "it  is  beautiful  to  mani- 
fest gratitude,  and  I  love  you  doubly  therefor.  You 
have  highly  rewarded  my  solicitude  by  your  diligence 
and  obedience.  If  you  continue  in  this  manner,  you 
will  become  a  learned  and  renowned  man.  Maurits; 
you  will  be  a  comfort  to  me  in  my  many  domestic 
sorrows." 

"I  am  pleased  to  hear   you  say  so,  for  I  feel    deeply 
grateful  for   all    your  goodness,     Herr  Pastor.      But    I 
should  rather  hope  that  you    may  need  no  comforter, 
that  you  may  always  be  happy." 

"Ah,  my  child,  what  mortal  does  not,  at  every  step 
from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  experience  the  need  of 
the  love  and.  sympathy  of  his  fellows?  I  need  it  in 


THE    AM HER    HEART  147 

greater  degree  than  many  others.  I  have  serious  troub- 
les, Maurits;  I  have  a  galling  position,  looked  at  from 
an  economical  point  of  view.  I  have  five  children,  a 
boy  and  four  girls,  whose  bringing  up  falls  heavy  upon 
me.  The  boy,  thoughtless  fellow,  will  take  care  of 
himself.  1  hope.  He  has  a  good  place,  but  I  have 
serious  apprehensions  that  in  that  great  city  he  will 
be  led  into  evil  ways,  for  he  is  a  high-spirited  youth, 
Maurits,  and  too  easily  influenced.  Would  to  God 
that  you  were  at  his  side,  my  boy,  for  he  has  the  ut- 
most confidence  in  you,  and  values  your  good  opinion 
highly.  But  my  daughters  are  my  greatest  concern. 
Wliat  will  become  of  them?  God  only  knows! 
Neither  of  the  three  has  any  inclination  to  learn,  not- 
withstanding I  persistently  keep  them  at  their  books. 
I  would  not  willingly  send  them  to  a  boarding-school, 
even  if  I  had  the  means.  Neither  will  I  that  they 
shall  remain  gross  and  ignorant  mopsies.  Women 
are  not  alone  household  machines,  or  they  ought  not 
to  be.  It  is  proper  that  they  should  be  able  to  cook, 
nurse,  and  weave,  but  I  demand  that  they  shall,  at 
least,  know  when  the  battle  of  Narva  was  fought,  and 
what  sort  of  man  Schiller  was.  It  is  time  that  more 
thought  was  given  to  the  rearing  of  women  than  has 
been,  hitherto,  Maurits." 

'I  agree  with  you  fully,"  said  the  boy,  "for  I  se.e 
clearly  what  a  pleasure  it  would  be  to  you  if  only  your 
excellent  wife  understood  and  could  converse  with  you 
upon  subjects  that  interest  you.  But,  concerning  your 
daughters,  I  believe  that  the  oldest  certainly  will,  in 
time,  do  you  honor." 

"I  sincerely  hope  so.  Marie  is  a  good  girl  and  dis- 
posed to  read.  She  has  a  good  head  and  can  become 
a  superior  governess  with  time.  She  will  take  care  of 


148  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

herself,  I  have  no  doubt.  But  with  Louise,  Lotta, 
and  Ulla,  it  is  worse.  Those  girls  cause  me  no  little 
trouble,  and  now,  Brita  has  it  in  her  head  that  they 
can  amount  to  something  if  they  learn  nothing  else 
than  what  belongs  to  housekeeping  and  such  trash. 
She  opposes  me,  and  encourages  their  frivolities." 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  Madame 
Bergholm,  who,  accompanied  by  all  of  her  daughters, 
came  up  and  seated  herself  at  the  side  of  her  husband. 

Madame  Bergholm's  face  was  a  bright  red,  having 
just  come  from  the  kitchen  fire  and  also  from  disci- 
plining a  maid  who  had  been  disobedient  and  had 
broken  a  coffee-cup. 

Of  the  four  girls  who  accompanied  her,  none  was 
older  than  thirteen  years.  The  oldest,  Marie,  pos- 
sessed a  beautiful  face  and  a  countenance  full  of  ex- 
pression, while  the  other  three  were  homely,  white- 
haired  young  ones,  with  no  particular  life  in  their 
glance. 

"My  dear  Bergholm,"  said  his  wife,  as  she  seated 
herself,  "we  must  surely  take  another  maid  next  mov- 
ing day  instead  of  Stina. " 

"Why  so,  Brita  mine?  I  think  Stina  a  very  good 
girl." 

"You  think  and  you  think,"  interposed  she  emphat- 
ically, "and  you  don't  know  what  you  do  think.  The 
miserable  creature  will  break  everything  we  have  in  the 
house  by  her  carelessness.  One  of  my  best  coffee-cups 
has  just  been  added  to  the  list;  but  such  things  disturb 
you  little." 

"Woman,"  said  the  pastor,  with  gravity,  "don't  talk 
to  me  of  coffee-cups;  I  have  other  things  to  think 
about." 

"Yes,  you  have  your  Latin  and  Greek    and  whatever 


THE    AMBER    HEART  149 

else  you  may  call  the  stuff,"  she  broke  forth,  "but  never 
concern  yourself  about  the  sufferings  of  your  poor 
wife.  Why  don't  you  throw  your  old  books  into  the 
fire?" 

"Woman, don't  sin  against  antiquity,but  talk  of  things 
within  your  understanding.  I  have  determined  to  teach 
Marie  Latin.  What  do  you  say  to  it,  my  girl?" 

"Teach  Marie  Latin,"  shrieked  madame,  now  act- 
ually angry,  "and  you  believe  that!  It  is  already  too 
much  that  she  is  made  to  waste  her  time  with  that 
French  prattle  which  yo*u  will,  whether  or  not,  drive 
into  her  head.  If  she  is  now  to  learn  Latin,  I  shall 
leave,  for  I  cannot  bear  to  listen  to  it." 

"Tut,  tut!  don't  get  into  such  a  stew,"  said  the 
pastor  smiling,  for  he  only  wished  to  frighten  his  wife 
a  little.  "But  you  must  promise  me  tc  incite  the  other 
girls  to  industry  and  the  studies  I  have  laid  out  for 
them.  They  will  surely  never  marry,  poor  girls,  and 
it  is,  therefore,  so  much  more  necessary  to  instruct 
them  in  useful  knowledge  by  means  of  which  they  may 
in  the  future  gain  their  livelihood." 

"Never,"  said  she,  "they  shall  never  be  governesses 
who  can  only  play  the  piano  and  lisp  their  faime.  I 
think  more  of  a  well-qualified  housekeeper." 

"My  dear  Brita,  though  you  received  no  education, 
you  should  not  grudge  it  to  your  children." 

"Received  no  education,"  interrupted  the  woman  in 
injured  tones.  "Listen  to  the  man!  Let  me  tell  you 
that  I  received  a  sufficient  education  to  manage  you 
and  all  your  household.  If  you  are  not  satisfied  with 
my  knowledge,  why  did  you  take  me  to  wife?" 

"Now,  now,  my  dear  woman,"  said  the  pastor  per- 
suasively, "I  meant  no  harm,  and  I  am  the  first  to  ac- 
knowledge your  merits.  Do  not  be  angry,  therefore, 
for  there  is  no  occasion." 


150  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Well,  let  us  say  no  more  about  it,"  said  his  wife, 
somewhat  appeased.  "But  in  the  name  of  the  Lord, 
who  comes  in  the  great  carriage?  It  is  coming  here. 
Who  can  it  be?" 

"I  think  it  must  be  the  priest's  carriage,"  said  the 
pastor  indifferently,  taking  the  pipe  from  his  mouth. 

"Marie,  hasten  to  the  kitchen  and  put  the  coffee-pot 
on,  and  you  girls  run  in  and  make  things  a  little 
tidy.  Gracious  me!  I  look  like  a  witch!  Bergholm, 
go  up  and  put  your  jacket  on." 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  the  pastor, 
blowing  a  cloud  of  smoke  into  the  air.  "My  old  frock 
is  good  enough." 

"What  an  incorrigible  you  are,"  said  the  wife,  turn- 
ing on  her  heel  and  entering  the  house  without  waiting 
for  a  reply. 

Meantime,  a  carriage  had  driven  up  to  the  yard,  and 
from  it  stepped  first  a  short,  very  short,  but  chubby 
little  man,  clad  in  the  garb  of  a  priest,  followed  by  a 
tall,  lean  woman  who  looked  like  a  hop-pole,  and 
finally,  a  youth  who  appeared  to  be  about  eighteen 
years  old. 

It  was  the  parish  priest,  Father  Wassholm,  with  his 
wife  and  son. 

Pastor  Bergholm  arose  and  went  to  meet  his  guests. 

"Welcome,  welcome,  my  dear  brother!"  exclaimed 
he  somewhat  embarrassed.  "Welcome,  my  dear  ma- 
dame,  I  hope  you  will  excuse  my  old  frock.  1  didn't 
know  I  was  going  to  have  such  distinguished  guests." 

"That  is  of  no  consequence,  Pastor  Bergholm,"  re- 
turned the  lady  with  a  gracious  smile,  while  the  priest 
twisted  his  peruke  into  place,  and  the  son,  a  young 
student,  thrust  his  hands  into  the  back  pockets  of  his 
coat. 


THE    AM  HICK    HEART  15! 

The  strangers  were  conducted  into  the  little  parlor 
where  the  hostess  soon  appeared,  tricked  out  in  her 
best  attire. 

Maurits  also  went  in  and  seated  himself,  bashfully, 
in  a  corner  near  the  door. 

After  the  compliments  had  gone  their  rounds,  the 
priest,  turning  the  conversation,  exclaimed: 

"I  have  come  to  give  you  some  news." 

"Indeed!      What  is  it?" 

"We  are  soon  to  have  a  new  lord  in  the  community. 
The  venerable  Baron  Liljedahl  is  at  the  point  of  death, 
and  as  you  know,  my  brother,  the  estate  will  be  inher- 
ited by  his  only  son,  who,  at  present,  resides  in  Stock- 
holm. He  will  come  here  one  of  these  days  with  his 
family.  He  is  a  very  arrogant  fellow,  it  is  said." 

"Is  the  old  baron  indeed  so  ill?"  asked  Madame 
Bergholm. 

"Yes,  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,"  interrupted 
the  priest's  wife;  "he  is  over  eighty  years  old,  and  it 
is  time  he  was  at  rest.  It  will,  no  doubt,  be  charm- 
ing to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  new  Baroness 
Ehrenstam,  who  is  said  to  be  a  learned  and  polished 
woman.  It  may  be  that  her  entrance  into  our  society 
will  effect  a  revolution  in  the  tone  of  our  community, 
which  is  surely  not  the  best  just  now  But  my  little 
Madame  Bergholm  knows  nothing  of  these  things,  for 
she  so  seldom  goes  out  into  the  world  where  so  much 
slander  and  gossip  prevail." 

Madame  Wassholm  was  a  literary  dame,  more  than 
half  a  blue  stocking.  Her  conversation  was,  for  the 
most  part,  devoted  to  the  beautiful  arts,  especially  to 
poetry.  With  critical  glance,  she  examined  Shake- 
speare, Byron  and  Goethe,  although  we  must,  in  truth 
admit  that  her  criticisms  were  like  the  well-known 


152  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Herr  Flabbes',  because  she  seldom  had  a  more  inti- 
mate knowledge  of  these  poets  than  their  names. 

Ever  and  anon,  she  would  remember  a  stanza  from 
her  governess  days,  and  these  were  made  use  of  in 
season  and  out  of  season.  Madame  Wassholm's  edu- 
cation was  not  profound,  but  she  had  a  faculty  of  mak- 
ing a  great  display  with  the  little  she  had.  It  bad 
also  come  about  that  in  the  whole  neighborhood  she 
had  won  a  certain  respect  and  admiration,  and  was,  by 
the  spectacle-maker,  entitled  the  professor  in  petti- 
coats. 

Her  husband,  however,  priest  though  he  was,  did 
not  belong  to  the  literati.  The  calls  upon  him  for  ed- 
ucational qualifications  had  never  gone  beyond  the 
moderate  demands  now  and  then  made  upon  a  priest 
in  an  examination,  which,  God  knows,  in  the  year  1820, 
might  be  a  mere  pretense.  Since  he  had  received  the 
gown,  he  had  given  himself  wholly  up  to  indolence. 

There  was  just  one  art  in  which  he  was  the  recog- 
nized superior  of  his  contemporaries.  This  was  drink- 
ing ale.  It  was  his  custom  to  have  a  tankard  of  the 
liquor  standing  by  his  bedside  at  night  in  order,  when 
thirsty,  to  have  his  favorite  beverage  at  hand.  On  the 
opposite  side  of  the  bed,  his  wife  had  a  like  tankard, 
but  filled  with  small  beer. 

One  night,  by  mistake,  so  the  story  goes,  the  tank- 
ards were  exchanged  so  that  the  priest  had  the  small 
beer  on  his  side.  About  midnight  he  awoke,  burning 
with  thirst.  Reaching  out  his  hand  he  grasped  the 
vessel  and  took  a^  good  draught.  Suddenly  noticing 
an  unfamiliar  taste,  he  began  to  sputter  and  shout, 
"God  forgive  my  sins!  I  believe  this  is  small  beer!" 

This  worthy  soul-saver  had  one  quality,  however, 
which  we  may  mention.  He  was  an  incomparable  in- 


THE    AMBER    HEART  153 

triguer.  When  he  sought  the  pastorate  of  Nodesdahla, 
where  he  was  at  present  rector,  Pastor  Bergholm  was 
also  a  candidate.  The  latter  had  the  almost  solid  sup- 
port of  the  peasantry,  and  also  received  a  great  num- 
ber of  the  farmers'  votes;  but  Wassholm  understood 
how,  by  flattery,  and  insinuating  himself,  to  win  all 
the  land  proprietors  to  his  side.  He  nad  gone  around, 
bowing  and  scraping,  and  resorting  to  all  sorts  of 
roundabouts,  and  luck  was  on  his  side.  At  the  elec- 
tion, he  had  three  plurality,  and  the  hopes  of  the  poor 
parson  vanished.  The  lazy  and  ignorant  priest,  ale- 
guzzler  and  gormand  secured  thus  the  fat  living,  while 
the  learned,  plain  and  industrious  Pastor  Bergholm 
was  obliged  to  remain  in  his  obscure  corner,  a  prey  to 
continually  augmenting  economical  troubles.  So  goes 
the  world. 

We  have  given  this  description  of  the  priest  and  his 
partner,  because  these  two  persons,  farther  on,  will 
play  a  part  in  our  narrative. 

Let  us  now  return.  The  coffee-urn  was  borne  back 
to  the  house,  and  Madame  Wassholm  began  a  literary 
discussion  with  Pastor  Bergholm,  while  the  priest  oc- 
cupied himself  with  Madame  Bergholm,  who  seemed  to 
be  highly  flattered  with  the  praise  bestowed  upon  her 
coffee  and  biscuit  by  his  reverence. 

Pastor  Bergholm,  on  the  other  hand,  was  suffering 
great  torment.  Madame  Wassholm  assailed  him  un- 
mercifully with  her  critical  reflections  on  the  "newest 
literary  creation,"  and  the  good  pastor  sought  in  vain 
for  a  pretext  to  get  away  from  the  conversation,  for  the 
woman's  criticisms  were  nauseating.  He  sat  as  if  on 
pins,  uttering  sometimes  an  "ahem,"  a  "no,"  a  "yes,"  or 
some  similar  expression  of  a  single  syllable,  mopping 
the  perspiration  from  his  brow,  twisting  in  his  chair, 


i54  THE  PLAY  OF  FATE 

at  last  standing  up  and  walking,  and  finally,  in  his 
despair,  puffing  his  tobacco  smoke  full  in  her  face,  but 
in  vain.  Madame  Wassholm  continued  to  explain  the 
difference  between  the  old  and  the  new  school  of 
Swedish  literature— a  controversy  which,  at  that  time, 
was  at  its  height,  and  in  which  she  declared  she  had 
long  ago  ranged  herself  on  the  side  of  the  French 
party,  because  she  could  not  endure  the  "Phosphorists' 
bombast,"  as  she  termed  it.  The  pastor,  who  hated 
the  academical  school,  must  be  silent  and  endure,  ior, 
had  he  begun  to  contradict  her,  it  would  have  been 
many  fold  worse  for  him,  he  knew. 

From  the  ''Phosphorists,''  Madame  Wassholm  threw 
herself  with  all  her  might  upon  the  German  Roman- 
cers, whom  she  abused  without  stint,  maintaining  a 
long  and  brilliant  tirade  on  Schiller's  "madness," 
Goethe's  'coldness,"  and  Richter's  "insanity,"  all  of 
whom,  she  said,  had  produced  nothing  but  a  babel  of 
words,  and  ought  to  be  in  a  madhouse.  "Who  cannot 
see  that  Faust  is  of  a  most  immoral  tendency,  and  that 
Herman  and  Dorothea  are  only  an  abortive  attempt  at 
aping  the  trash  of  Homer?" — We  ought  to  state  in  pa 
renthesis  that  these  opinions  had  been  imbibed  by 
Madame  Wassholm  from  the  public  journals  which  she 
perused. 

But  at  last  the  pastor's  patience  was  exhausted. 
Homer,  his  favorite,  his  idol,  to  be  thus  insolently  at- 
tacked, and  by  whom?  —  By  a  woman.  This  was  more 
than  he  could  swallow. 

"Woman!"  he  broke  forth  with  a  voice  of  thunder, 
but  was  suddenly  checked  by  a  heavy  blow  upon  the 
back  from  his  wife,  who  was  passing  by.  "Pardon 
me,"  he  resumed  in  embarrassment,  "I  should  say, 
Madame  Wassholm,  you  are  too  severe.  Homer's  works 


THE    AMBER    HEART  155 

are  not,  and  never  will  be  trash.  To  this  day  their 
equal  has  never  been  produced." 

"That  may  be,  Pastor  Bergholm,"  said  the  learned 
lady  with  a  haughty  smile;  "I  will  not  differ  with 
you.  It  seems  to  me,  nevertheless,  that  the  classics, 
as  they  are  called,  occupy  altogether  too  much  space 
among  our  educational  methods.  Why  should  one 
waste  his  precious  time  with  so  much  Latin  and 
Greek?  " 

The  pastor  made  no  reply,  but  cast  a  glance  of 
withering  scorn  at  the  speaker. 

Meanwhile,  the  young  student  had  neared  Maurits, 
who,  up  to  the  present,  had  sat  silent  and  unobserved 
in  his  corner. 

"Hello,  my  boy!"  said  he  with  lordly  condescen- 
sion, burying  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  "What  is  your 
name?" 

Maurits  met  this  question  with  a  somewhat  surprised 
look.  The  young  man's  face  seemed  to  him  to  bear 
the  stamp  of  a  more  than  common  dullness,  mixed 
with  a  certain  arrogance.  He  therefore  answered  some- 
what curtly: 

"My  name  is  Maurits  Sterner;  and  yours?" 

The  young  man  thought  he  did  not  hear  aright. 
Was  it  possible?  Would  that  boy,  clad  in  a  blouse, 
dare  to  address  him,  the  priest's  eldest  son,  in  such  an 
ill-bred  manner?  What  crimen  hesce  majestatis! 

Maurits  repeated  his  question  with  more  force: 

"And  you,  what  is  your  name?" 

The  embryo  Apollo  made  no  reply,  but  muttering 
something  between  his  teeth  about  audacity,  stupidity, 
etc.,  he  turned  his  back  upon  Maurits  to  join  in  the 
literary  discussion  between  the  pastor  and  Madame 
Wassholm.  Finally  the  priest  and  his  family  took 


156  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

their  departure,  and  Pastor  Bergholm  breathed  lighter 
when  he  saw  the  carriage  roll  away. 

"That  woman  is  a  conundrum  to  me,"  said  he, 
turning  to  Maurits.  "Never  in  my  life  have  I  heard 
so  much  galimatias  at  one  time.  Usch!  I  believe  it 
will  make  me  sick.  God  spare  me  another  such  ex- 
perience. " 

"Yes,"  added  Madame  Bergholm,  "you  see  in  her 
the  consequences  of  a  learned  bringing  up.  You 
would  have  your  daughters  of  the  same  kind." 

"No,  no,  Brita, "  cried  the  pastor,  "I  would  have  my 
daughters  well  educated,  and  what  we  have  just  seen 
is  not  education,  but  nonsense.  Did  anyone  ever  hear 
the  like?  The  woman  is  surely  crazy.  God  help  her 
to  her  wits.  I  am  glad  I  am  acquainted  with  your 
mother,  Maurits.  There  is  a  woman  with  an  intellect, 
notwithstanding  her  poverty.  Come,  my  boy,  and  read 
a  page  from  Homer  for  me.  I  need  something  of  the 
kind  after  all  the  prattle  I  have  heard." 

Maurits  opened  the  book,  and  soon  had  the  pastor 
in  his  usual  good  humor. 

"See  here,  boy,"  said  he,  when  Maurits  had  con- 
cluded, "I  am  going  to  lend  you  a  new  book,  which  I 
received  only  a  few  days  ago  from  Carlstad.  It  is  a 
poem  titled  Semiramis,  the  author  of  which  is  un- 
known. Let  me  know  how  you  like  it." 

Maurits  thanked  him,  took  the  book  and  went,  after 
promising  to  come  again  the  following  day  to  assist  in 
the  arrangement  of  some  plant  that  the  indefatigable 
scholar  had  gathered. 

"Mamma,  '  said  Maurits,  when  he  entered  the  hut 
where  M-rs.  Sterner  sat  with  her  sewing,  "the  good 
pastor  has  lent  me  a  new  book.  It  is  a  poem,  said  to 
be  very  beautiful.  If  you  wish  I  will  read  some  of  it 
to  you  while  you  work." 


THE    AMBER    HEART  157 

"Yes,  do  so,  my  good  boy,"  said  the  mother  in  a 
mild  and  melodious  voice,  "it  will  be  pleasant  to  hear 
it. " 

The  boy  opened  the  book  and  began  to  read  the 
beautiful  poem. 

It  was  toward  evening  the  day  following  the  visit 
of  the  priest  to  Pastor  Bergholm. 

Maurits  sat  leaning  against  the  trunk  of  an  elm  on 
the  banks  of  the  river,  which  flowed  through  the  lit- 
tle village  on  whose  confines  his  mother's  hut  was  lo- 
cated. 

He  was  just  below  the  bridge,  which  has  been  pre- 
viously mentioned.  The  waves  of  the  deep  and  foam- 
ing river  licked  the  boy's  feet,  from  which  he  had  re- 
moved his  shoes. 

A  little  below  the  place  where  Maurits  sat  was  sit- 
uated a  mill,  at  the  time  running  full  speed.  Near  by 
was  a  mill  dam,  from  which  a  wide  race  conducted 
the  angry  waters  down  to  the  wheel.  From  the 
bridge,  the  most  beautiful  view,  looking  toward  the 
mill,  was  obtainable.  Below,  was  spread  the  blue 
surface  of  the  Wener,  surrounded  by  banks  covered 
with  thriving  forests  of  oak,  elms  and  birches. 

The  setting  sun  had  begun  here  and  there  to  spread 
a  woof  across  the  sheet  of  water. 

Maurits  had  a  book  in  his  hand,  the  poem  of 
Semiramis,  which  he  was  reading  with  deep  satisfac- 
tion. The  story  was  as  follows: 

When  the  great  and  mighty  queen  of  Assyria  was 
yet  a  child,  she  dwelt  in  a  shepherd's  hut  among  the 
mountains.  She  had  been  found  in  the  forest  and 
taken  in  by  the  shepherds,  who  looked  upon  her  as  a 
daughter  of  the  gods,  wherefore  she  was  regarded 


158  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

with  deep  religious  veneration.  Meantime,  she  grew 
up  and  became  the  most  beautiful  maiden  in  all  Asia. 
Her  beauty  seemed  to  be  supernatural.  So  brilliant 
indeed  was  it  that  no  one  could  endure  long  to  look 
upon  her.  It  happened  one  time  that  while  watching 
her  father's  flocks,  she  was  fallen  upon  by  a  wild  ani- 
mal, and  was  on  the  point  of  being  devoured,  when  a 
little  boy  from  a  neighboring  herd  chanced  that  way, 
and  at  the  moment  of  her  greatest  peril,  throwing 
himself  upon  the  animal,  succeeded,  after  a  short 
struggle,  in  cutting  its  throat  with  a  dagger. 

Semiramis,  the  beautiful  daughter  of  the  gods,  was 
saved.  The  young  shepherd  vanished  into  the  forest 
without  giving  her  an  opportunity  to  express  her 
gratitude  to  her  rescuer. 

Already  he  loved  her,  but  was  too  proud  to  ask  a 
return  of  his  love  as  a  reward  for  his  bravery.  He  un- 
derstood too  well  that  she,  a  daughter  of  the  gods,  was 
born  to  a  more  illustrious  destiny  than  that  of  the 
wife  of  a  common  shepherd. 

When  the  king,  later  on,  took  her  to  wife,  and  she, 
after  his  death,  became  absolute  monarch  of  Asia's 
most  beautiful  kingdom;  when  her  way  was  strewn 
with  good  fortune,  victories  and  honors,  and  millions 
surrounded'her  triumphal  chariot,  and  bowed  to  her 
power  and  beauty,  the  little  boy  who  had  saved  her 
life  stood  aloof  and  enjoyed  the  charm  in  her  eyes, 
and  followed  in  her  path  as  a  faithful  dog  follows  his 
master,  but  without  crowding  himself  upon  her  atten- 
tion with  any  thought  of  presenting  the  claim:  "O, 
queen,  when  you  were  a  child  I  saved  your  life,  I  have 
now  come  to  demand  my  reward."  And  when  the 
Amazon  queen  finally  fell  by  the  sword  of  the  Jews, 
the  shepherd  boy  rushed  forward,  and,  seeing  that  he 


THE    AMBER    HEART  159 

could  not  save  her  life,  drew  his  dagger,  and  thrusting 
it  into  his  heart,  fell  at  the  side  of  her  bloody  corpse. 
Silent  and  unrewarded  his  life  had  been,  silent  and 
unrewarded  he  died. 

This  stirring  tale  the  inspired  poet  had  unfolded 
with  a  spirit  that  often  brought  tears  to  Maurits'  eyes. 
He  did  not  know  which  he  should  most  admire,  the 
shepherd,  the  queen,  or  the  author. 

"Thus  1  would  have  acted,"  said  he  to  himself. 
"The  shepherd  was  the  greatest,  the  most  to  be  ad- 
mired, and  the  bravest  of  the  queen's  army,  for  he  con- 
quered himself,  while  they  only  subdued  others.  Yes, 
it  is  Christian-like  to  sacrifice  oneself  for  a  brother. 
But  how  much  more  Christian-like  to  do  it  in  silence, 
asking  no  reward,  asking  no  fame.  But  more  beau- 
tiful than  all  is  he  who  sacrifices  himself  for  his  ene- 
mies>  returning  good  for  evil.  Yes,  I  believe  that,  al- 
though Jacob  Kron  would  teach  me  the  contrary, 
would  teach  me  to  hate. 

"I  cannot  hate  mankind,  for  it  is  in  conflict  with 
my  nature.  I  cannot  hate  the  rich,  as  the  unfortunate 
Jacob  would  have  me.  I  am  poor,  it  is  true,  but  my 
industry  may  one  day  make  me  rich.  If  I  swore  to 
hate  the  rich,  I  might  perhaps  swear  to  hate  myself  at 
some  future  time. 

"Jacob  Kron,  your  misfortunes  have  deranged  your 
understanding.  Never  have  I  seen  it  so  manifestly  as 
now,  after  reading  this  poem.  The  little  herder  was 
also  rewarded  with  ingratitude,  was  humble,  poor} 
and  despised,  but  he  did  not  hate,  he  loved  only. 

"Jacob  Kron  did  not  believe  in  God.  He  told  me 
it  was  fate  that  ruled  the  world.  The  fate  often  rep- 
resented by  riches,  whose  possessors  are  all  influenced 
by  egoism  and  are  void  of  tenderness.  'Mankind,' 


l6o  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

said  he,  'cannot  conquer  fate;  they  can  only  struggle, 
to  fall  its  victim  in  the  end.  There  are  many  doomed 
to  continual  want,  to  misery,  crime,  and  evil,  who, 
however  they  may  strive,  can  never  attain  to  anything 
better  so  long  as  wealth  is  permitted  to  rule  in  the 
world;  so  long  as  genius,  talent,  virtue,  brotherly  love, 
whose  existence  cannot  be  disputed,  are  allowed  to 
build  in  peace  upon  the  bridges  over  the  great  chasm 
that  separates  the  hateful  child  of  darkness  from  the 
elect,  the  fortunate.'  So  said  Jacob  Kron.  I  shall 
never  forget  it.  But  can  it  really  be  so?  That  ques- 
tion I  have  asked  myself  in  doubt.  Can  it  really  be 
so? 

"Do  egoism,  unrighteousness,  ingratitude,  so  ex- 
clusively rule  this  social  class  which  Jacob  cursed,  and 
which  he  bound  me  to  hate?  I  begin  to  believe  the 
contrary. " 

At  this  instant,  the  reflections  of  the  boy  were  inter- 
rupted by  a  scene  upon  the  highway  quite  near  the 
place  where  he  had  been  reclining. 

An  elegant  carriage  stood  at  the  end  of  the  bridge. 
From  it  alighted  a  gentleman,  a  middle  aged  lady,  a 
boy  of  ten,  and  a  girl  of  about  eight  years. 

"If  you  wish,  Cecilia,'  said  the  gentleman,  "we  will 
allow  the  carriage  to  go  ahead  through  the  village, 
the  scenery  hereabout  is  worth  attention  " 

"As  you  say,  my  friend,"  answered  the  lad}';  "drive 
ahead  slowly,  coachman." 

The  carriage  proceeded. 

Maurits,  who  was  concealed  by  the  tree,  could  eas- 
ily see  what  took  place  on  the  bridge,  and  could  also 
hear  every  word  that  passed  between  the  gentleman 
and  lady,  while  he  remained  entirely  out  of  view. 

The  poor  boy  felt  an  involuntary  trembling  through 


THE    AMBER    HEART  l6l 

his  limbs,  for  he  thought  he  recognized  the  same  lady 
and  gentleman  by  whom  he  was,  four  years  before,  so 
ill  treated. 

The  travelers  had,  meantime,  paused  at  the  middle 
of  the  bridge.  The  lady  seemed  to  be  absorbed  by 
the  beautiful  landscape  spread  out  before  her,  while 
her  husband,  with  his  cane,  pointed  out  to  the  boy 
the  churches  and  estates  that  were  in  sight  from  their 
position. 

The  little  girl  was  thus  left  alone.  In  playful  mood, 
she  stood  by  the  hand-rail  amusing  herself  with  throw- 
ing pebbles,  which  she  picked-  up  in  the  road,  into 
the  water  below. 

The  hand-rail  was  old  and  rotten,  and  the  little  girl 
throwing  her  whole  weight  upon  it,  in  her  childish 
glee,  as  she  watched  the  rings  in  the  water  formed  by 
the  falling  pebbles,  it  suddenly  broke,  and  with  a  half- 
smothered  cry,  she  fell  headlong  into  the  deep  current 
below. 

"Oh,  my  God!  Isabella!  '  screamed  the  mother, 
abruptly  awakened  from  her  dream  by  the  splash  in 
the  water,  and  staggering,  she  grasped  the  remaining 
portion  of  the  railing  for  support. 

Almost  upon  the  instant  that  the  girl  fell,  the  par- 
ents saw  a  young  boy  cast  himself  from  the  bank  be- 
low them,  and,  with  bold  strokes,  swim  to  the  middle 
of  the  stream,  where  Isabella's  dark  locks  appeared 
above  the  surface. 

It  was  Maurits  who,  notwithstanding  his  youth,  was 
a  most  excellent  swimmer,  and  who  now,  with  noble 
impulse,  experienced  the  liveliest  pleasure  in  the 
thought  that  in  such  a  manner  he  might  be  revenged 
upon  the  haughty  family  that  had  so  deeply  injured 
him. 


1 62  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Straining  every  muscle,  the  boy  forged  through  the 
water,  and  had  the  good  fortune  in  a  few  minutes  to 
grasp  the  hair  of  the  drowning  child,  and  lift  her  head 
above  the  surface. 

The  mother  had  hastened  down  from  the  bridge, 
and  now  stood  upon  the  spot  just  left  by  Maurits. 
With  anxious  eyes  she  followed  trie  rescuer  in  his 
mighty  struggles  with  the  angry  current  which  mo- 
mentarily threatened  to  swallow  up  both  him  and  the 
child  held  in  his  arms. 

Even  the  gentleman  followed  in  his  wife's  footsteps. 
But,  as  he  could  not  swim,  he  remained  with  eyes 
steadily  fixed  upon  his  child  and  her  young  and  brave 
rescuer,  making  no  effort  to  assist  them.  He  had, 
meantime,  dispatched  his  son  to  the  mill  to  borrow  a 
boat,  and  to  bid  the  miller  shut  down  the  flood  gate 
to  the  race,  so  that  his  daughter  might  not  be  carried 
under  the  mill  wheel  and  so  crushed. 

1  he  boy  ran,  but  before  he  had  covered  half  the 
distance  to  the  mill,  the  mighty  waves  had  dragged 
the  struggling  Maurits,  still  clinging  to  the  girl,  out 
into  the  middle  of  the  stream  and  in  close  proximity 
to  the  still  rapidly  revolving  mill-wheel. 

Maurits  battled  with  the  strength  of  desperation 
against  the  current  that  was  carrying  him  rapidly  with 
it  It  would  have  been  very  easy  for  the  boy  to  have 
saved  his  own  life  if  he  would  release  the  burden  he 
held  in  his  arms,  whose  weight  was  fast  sapping  his 
strength;  but  that  he  would  not  do.  He  had  deter- 
mined to  be  crushed  with  her  under  the  fearful  wheel 
rather  than  save  his  own  life  and  allow  the  poor  child 
to  perish. 

With  terrible  anxiet)',  the  mother,  in  the  utmost 
despair,  had  thrown  herself  upon  the  bank  whence  her 


II 


! 


•8 

o 

bJD 


a 


THE    AMBER    HEART  163 

eyes  followed  every  movement  that  Maurits  made, 
while  the  father  seemed  to  take  the  matter  with  exceed- 
ing indifference. 

Maurits  was  now  quite  near  the  wheel,  and  the  mill- 
er had  not  yet  shut  down  the  flood-gate.  Another  des- 
perate effort  and  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  grasp,  with 
his  disengaged  hand,  one  of  the  beams  which  formed 
the  dam.  By  this  means  he  succeeded  in  dragging 
himself  from  the  raging  stream  into  more  quiet  water, 
and  at  the  same  instant  the  miller  appeared  and 
dropped  the  flood-gate,  whereupon  the  torrent  was  ar- 
rested. 

With  his  arm  still  wound  round  the  child's  waist, 
Maurits  caught  the  end  of  a  rope  thrown  to  him  by 
the  miller.  Some  laborers  were  called,  and.  with  their 
assistance,  boy  and  girl  were  dragged  to  the  top  of  the 
bank. 

Maurits  thanked  them,  then  took  the  fainting  child 
in  his  arms  and  bore  it  along  the  river-bank  to  the 
parents,  who  were  hastening  to  meet  him 

On  the  way,  he  took  a  more  careful  observation  of 
the  girl.  Her  face,  white  as  death,  was  indescribably 
beautiful;  a  smile  played  around  the  closed  lips,  and 
long,  dark  locks  shaded  her  white  forehead. 

Maurits  had  never  seen  such  a  surpassingly  beauti- 
ful child,  and  he  pressed  her  with  an  almost  motherly 
tenderness  against  his  breast,  while  with  his  hands  he 
brushed  away  the  wet  locks. 

The  mother  had  rushed  toward  him,  and  met  him 
half  way. 

"My  child!  my  Isabella!  Is  she  dead?"  cried  she  in 
anguish,  taking  the  girl  from  Maurits'  arms. 

"I  think  not,"  answered  Maurits,  "her  heart  is  still 
beating,  though  weakly." 


[64  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Quick,  we  must  have  help,"  cried  the  lady,  and 
without  a  word  further,  turned  and  rushed  with  all 
speed  toward  the  highway. 

Maurits  remained  standing,  following  her  with  his 
eyes.  "Not  so  much  as  a  thank  you,"  muttered  he 
between  his  teeth.  "Jacob  Kron  was  right." 

He  thought  of  the  herder  about  whom  he  had  so  re- 
cently read  in  the  poem,  and  the  thought  gave  him 
courage.  He  turned  away,  intending  to  depart  among 
the  trees  by  a  side  path. 

The  baron  had  now  overtaken  his  wile,  and  both 
busied  themselves  in  the  endeavor  to  restore  their 
daughter  to  consciousness.  Success  at  length  rewarded 
their  efforts. 

In  a  short  time,  the  little  girl  opened  her  eyes,  when 
Maurits  heard  the  lady  say  to  her  husband: 

"The  boy  who  pulled  her  out  of  the  stream,  where 
is  he?  We  must  give  him  something  for  his  trouble." 

''You  are  right,"  said  the  baron.  Thereupon,  turn- 
ing to  Maurits,  who  was  at  the  point  of  leaving,  he 
called  to.  him  to  come  near. 

Maurits,  drawing  his  wet  blouse  about  him,  ap- 
proached; not  for  the  sake  of  the  reward,  but  because 
of  a  curiosity  to  hear  what  the  proud  gentleman  would 
have  to  say. 

"My  friend,"  said  the  baron,  "you  have  conducted 
yourself  nobly.  I  owe  you  my  thanks  for  saving  my 
child.  You  are  poor?" 

"Yes,"  said  Maurits. 

The  baron  took  out  his  purse,  the  same  from  which 
four  years  before  he  took  a  bank-note  with  which  to 
pay  for  the  tea-cups  that  his  son  had  broken  for  the 
beggar  boy,  but  this  time  it  was  not  a  small  bill  that 
the  baron  drew  forth.  It  was  a  whole  ten  riksdaler 
note. 


THE    AMBER    HEART  165 

"See  here,  my  friend,"  said  he,  addressing  Maurits, 
"take  that  for  your  trouble." 

The  boy  met  his  offer  with  a  glance  of  scorn,  at  the 
same  time  retiring  a  few  paces  and  crossing  his  arms 
over  his  breast. 

"Sir,"  said  he  proudly,  "I  did  not  throw  myself  into 
the  stream,  to  later  receive  alms.  I  have  saved  j'our 
daughter  at  the  peril  of  my  own  life,  and  you  have  no 
friendly  word  of  thanks  for  me.  You  put  me  off  with 
a  paltry  bank-note,  without  the  least  notice  beyond 
that.  Go,  I' will  not  have  your  money." 

"Ye  gods!  what  have  we  here  for  an  accursed  clown!" 
shouted  the  baron,  white  with  rage,  for  the  rich  always 
fly  into  a  passion  as  soon  as  they  notice  the  least  in- 
clination to  independence  on  the  part  of  one  of  the 
lower  class.  ''Are  you  too  good  to  take  my  money, 
say  you?  Who  the  devil  are  you,  then?  A  disguised 
prince,  maybe,"  added  he,  sneeringly. 

"Who  I  am  does  not  concern  you,"  broke  in  Mau- 
rits, whose  anger  could  no  longer  be  restrained. 
"One  thing  only  will  I  say  to  you.  I  am  the  same 
boy  whom  you  and  your  son  one  time  struck  because 
I  made  bold  to  jump  upon  the  back  of  your  carriage, 
and  whom  you  on  that  occasion  called  a  liar  and  a 
thief;  the  same,  also,  for  whom  your  son,  some  days 
later,  broke  an  East  Indian  porcelain  cup  which  I  had 
offered  for  sale  in  order  to  get  my  sick  mother  bread, 
and  which  cup  you  would  pay  for  with  twelve  shillings. 
I  would  not  take  pay  then  for  an  injustice  done  me. 
I  will  much  less  take  it  to-day  for  having  done  my 
duty.  Farewell,  sir,"  and  the  youth  turned  to  take  his 
leave. 

Meantime,  Isabella  had  recovered  full  consciousness. 
When  she  saw  that  Maurits  was  about  to  go,  she 


1 66  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

sprang  from  the  ground,  and  threw  her  delicate  arms 
around  his  waist  as  if  to  detain  him. 

Maurits  was  moved.  He  patted  the  dear  child  upon 
the  head,  then  mildly  unclasped  her  arms. 

"Isabella!"  cried  the  la-dy  sharply,  "what  are  you 
doing!  What  unbecoming  familiarity!" 

Maurits  smiled — it  was  a  bitter  smile — then  picking 
up  the  book  which  had  been  left  on  the  ground,  he 
bowed  to  the  haughty  pair  and  departed,  while  the 
baron  regarded  him  with  a  look  of  ill-suppressed  rage. 

"What  a  scoundrel  of  a  boy!"  he  heard  the  baron 
say.  To  which  the  lady  answered,  "Yes,  one  can't 
expect  better  from  such  inferior  people." 

When  Maurits,  heartsore,  and  deeply  embittered  at 
the  insult  he  had  again  suffered  at  the  hands  of  these 
aristocrats,  whose  former  affront  he  had  paid  wTith  a 
noble  deed,  again  reached  his  mother's  hut  and  drew 
off  his  dripping  wet  blouse  to  hang  it  before  the  fire 
to  dry,  he  noticed  that  an  object,  of  whose  presence 
he  had  until  now  had  no  knowledge,  had  become  fast- 
ened in  the  folds  of  his  clothes.  Upon  closer  inspec- 
tion he  found  the  article  to  be  a  small  amber  heart 
mounted  in  gold,  and  attached  to  a  black  silk  ribbon. 
Surprised,  he  went  to  the  window  in  order,  by  the 
better  light,  to  examine  his  unexpected  discover)-. 
Upon  the  gold  mounting  he  found  engraved  two  let- 
ters. With  some  trouble,  for  the  letters  were  nearly 
obliterated,  Maurits  distinguished  an  I.  and  an  E. 
nicely  engraved  in  monogram. 

With  lightning  flash,  the  narrative  of  Jacob  Kron 
in  the  forest  was  recalled.  Had  he  not  spoken  of  a 
similar  jewel,  inherited  from  his  mother,  and  bearing 
the  same  initials? 

"Is  it  possible?  Can  it  be  the  same?"  asked  Mau- 
rits in  uncertainty. 


THE    AMBER    HEART  167 

Should  he  believe  that  the  gentleman  who  had  so 
deeply  wronged  him  was  the  father  of  the  unfortunate 
Jacob,  the  same  who  had  caused  his  son  to  be  thrown 
headlong  down  the  stairs  of  his  residence,  and  who 
proceeded  against  him  and  was  instrumental  in  bring- 
ing him  to  the  whipping-post  and  to  prison? 

"O,  yes,"  said  he  to  himself.  "It  is  quite  probable. 
His  conduct  toward  me  does  not  challenge  the  pre- 
sumption." 

Maurits  was  at  a  loss  to  know  what  he  should  do 
with  his  discovery.  It  was  manifest  to  him  that  the 
trinket  had  hung  around  the  neck  of  the  little  girl  he 
had  rescued,  and  that  during  the  long  continued  bat- 
tle with  the  waters,  it  had  become  detached  from  its 
owner's  neck  and  fastened  to  his  clothes.  Should  he 
seek  out  the  haughty  baron  and  return  the  ornament? 
He  found  many  reasons  which  argued  that  he  should 
do  so,  but  others  again  persuading  him  to  the  reverse. 

"The  sweet  little  girl  has  worn  this  jewel  next  to 
her  breast,"  said  he,  "and  how  gladly  I  would  retain  a 
memento  of  her.  And,  besides,  this  heart  has  prob- 
ably belonged  to  poor  Jacob  Kron.  It  was  the  only 
inheritance  his  mother  left  him,  and  he  was,  by  unjust 
means,  deprived  of  it  by  his  father.  It  would  surely 
please  him  to  receive  it  back  again  if  ever  I  should 
meet  him  in  my  way.  Moreover,  I  do  not  know  the 
name  of  the  family,  I  do  not  even  know  where  they 
reside,  and  it  would  now  be  useless  to  endeavor  to 
overtake  their  carriage.  There  is  thus  no  other  course 
than  to  retain  the  ornament  for  the  present.  I  will, 
however,  tell  my  mother  about  it  when  she  returns 
home.  She  shall  instruct  me  what  to  do." 

Mrs.  Sterner,  who  had  gone  to  one  of  the  neighbor- 
ing estates  to  carry  home  some  completed  garments, 
entered  the  room  at  that  instant. 


l68  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Upon  seeing  Maurits,  his  clothes  wet  through, 
standing  at  the  window  contemplating  an  object  that 
appeared  to  her  to  be  a  costly  article  of  jewelry,  she 
was  greatly  surprised  and  alarmed. 

"What  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  has  happened!"  she 
cried,  anxiously.  "Why  is  your  shirt  so  wet,  and 
what  have  you  in  your  hand?" 

"Sit  down,  mother,  and  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it," 
said  Maurits.  "It  is  not  so  bad  as  it  may  seem." 

Mrs.  Sterner  seated  herself,  while  Maurits  related 
his  adventure,  leaving  out  only  the  insult  and  contempt 
he  had  suffered. 

Of  Jacob  Kron  and  the  relation  he  believed  to  exist 
between  him  and  the  amber  heart,  he  said  nothing, 
however,  for  he  had  thus  far  never  spoken,  not  even 
to  his  mother,  about  the  meeting  in  the  forest,  and  the 
sad  history  he  heard  there. 

This,  together  with  the  feelings  that  had  had  their 
beginning  therefrom,  and  had  struggled  in  the  child's 
heart,  he  had  kept  cautiously  guarded  in  the  depths 
of  his  breast.  These  slumbering  feelings  were  again 
awakened  to  activity.  Doubt,  disquiet,  indignation, 
and  bitterness  battled  anew  in  his  soul,  but  he  would 
not  yet  disturb  that  dearly  loved  mother  therewith. 

It  was  the  child's  heart,  it  was  love's  instinct,  that 
restrained  him.  And  it  was,  maybe,  an  unconscious 
necessity  that  he  should  struggle  and  suffer  in  silence. 

When  Maurits  concluded  the  narration  of  his  advent- 
tire,  shorn  of  its  dangers,  Mrs.  Sterner  drew  him  to 
her  and  pressed  him  to  her  breast,  shedding  tears  of 
tenderness  in  her  mother's  pride. 

"My  dear  child,"  said  she,  "you  have  risked  your  life 
in  behalf  of  those  who  have  done  you  wrong.  That 
was  a  great  and  noble  deed.  God  will  reward  you 
therefor. " 


THE    AMBER    HEART  l6g 

"Yes,  mamma,"  said  the  boy  bitterly,  "I  hope  so, 
for  from  mankind  one  may  expect  nothing  better  than 
ingratitude  and  humiliation." 

"Ah,  my  dear  Maurits,"  resumed  Mrs.  Sterner  with 
an  angelic  smile,  'these  people  have,  without  doubt, 
shown  themselves  very  ungrateful  toward  you,  but  you 
must  not  judge  them  too  harshly.  You  must  forgive 
them,  however  sorely  they  have  wounded  you.  It  is 
ordained  in  the  world,  my  son,  that  prejudice,  egoism, 
and  pride  must  have  their  representatives,  just  as  gen- 
erosity, resignation,  and  meekness.  We  cannot  help 
that,  we  can  only  deplore  the  fact  that  it  is  so.  But 
we  must  not  condemn  nor  hate.  We  must  show  a 
tolerance,  a  patience  unknown  to  them,  apparently, 
and  we  must  interpret  all  for  the  best,  and  think,  'they 
know  not  what  they  do.'  ' 

"'Know  not  what  they  do!'  "  cried  Maurits  in  angry 
tones,  "and  if  the  rich,  if  the  exalted  do  not  know  bet- 
ter, how  can  it  be  demanded  of  the  poor?" 

"Because  many  of  these  exalted  people  are  reared 
in  a  sphere  where  such  prejudices  prevail.  Therefore* 
my  son,  they  experience  the  corrupting  influences 
thrown  around  them  their  whole  life  through.  We 
must  remember  that  and  be  tolerant  therefore  in  our 
judgment  upon  them.  It  is  tolerance,  my  dear,  that 
divine,  that  Godlike  tolerance  that  inclines  the  heart 
most  to  our  eternal  Father,  from  whom  it  has  its  ori- 
gin. And  where  do  we  possess  a  more  beautiful,  a 
more  perfect  example  of  tolerance  than  in  that  God- 
begotten  founder  of  our  religion,  Jesus  Christ.  We 
should  emulate  Him  as  much  as  mortals  can  emulate 
Deity.  It  is,  indeed,  or  should  be,  the  aim  of  our 
lives.  Even  He  was  reviled,  wounded,  and  humbled, 
but  He  prayed  for  His  enemies:  'Father,  forgive  them, 
they  know  not  what  they  do.' 


170  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"That  is  true,  mamma,"  said  Maurits,  with  feeling, 
"and  I  would  gladly  follow  His  example  as  you  have 
taught  me.  O,  indeed,  I  would  very  gladly  love  all 
mankind,  and  I  will  endeavor  to  forget  the  wrongs 
that  have  been  heaped  upon  me. " 

"Do  so,  my'  son,"  said  the  mother,  kissing  him. 
"Do  so.  and  you  will  be  a  happy  and  a  noble  man. 
Hate  hardens  the  heart,  love  warms  it." 

"But,"  added  the  boy,  "I  wonder  who  those  people 
can  be.  Can  you  not  enlighten  me?" 

"No,"  answered  Mrs.  Sterner.  "You  know  I  was  ill 
at  the  time  when,  four  years  ago,  you  met  them.  I 
have  not  been  to  Liljedahl  since,  and  I  have  never 
inquired  about  the  name.  It  is  now  too  late,  for  the 
old  Baron  Ehrenstam,  whose  guests  they  were,  is  ly- 
ing in  the  agonies  of  death,  if  he  is  not  already  dead, 
and  the  people  at  the  mansion  have  perhaps  changed 
so  that  no  one  could  inform  us  who  they  were." 

"What  then  am  I  to  do  with  this  ornament,  that  has 
come  into  my  possession  in  such  an  extraordinary 
manner?" 

"You  must  keep  it  for  the  present,"  said  Mrs.  Stern- 
er, "you  may  some  time  in  the  future  find  them,  v/hen 
you  can  return  it." 

"You  think,  then,  that  I  may  keep  it  for  the  pres- 
ent?" asked  Maurits,  rejoiced. 

"Yes,  surely,  my  child,  I  find  nothing  in  the  way  of 
your  doing  so.  At  any  rate,  the  article  is  not  of  great 
value,  and  will  probably  not  be  missed.  If  it  should 
be,  you  can  do  nothing,  for  the  travelers  are  already, 
no  doubt,  many  miles  away.  Keep  it,  therefore,  until 
perchance  you  meet  the  owner.  It  will  be  to  you  a 
memento  of  the  little  girl  you  saved,  and  it  may  be  to 
her  a  sign  of  recognition  if  you  should  meet  again." 


THE    AMBER    HEART  IJt 

Maurits  hung  Isabella's  ornament  around  his  neck, 
and  hid  it  next  his  breast.  "That  shall  be  my  talis- 
man," thought  he.  "While  I  wear  it,  the  good  angels 
will  watch  over  me." 

The  poor  boy  did  not  remember  that  a  curse  hung 
over  the  ornament  He  forgot  its  history  as  Jacob 
received  it  in  the  poor-house,  from  the  dying  woman, 
and  that  upon  her  son  it  had  brought  misfcrtune  and 
ruin.  He  had  forgotten  that,  or,  rather,  he  did  not 
think  of  it,  for  in  his  thoughts  floated  only  the  image 
of  the  lovely  little  girl  who  last  wore  the  trinket,  and 
from  whose  possession  it  came  into  his. 

Summer  and  autumn  passed,  and  Maurits  had  not 
again  seen  the  family.  Believing  they  did  not  belong 
to  the  neighborhood,  but  were  by  chance  traveling 
through  there,  he  made  no  inquiries  and,  except  to 
his  mother,  he  never  mentioned  the  occurrence  in 
which  he  had  played  the  leading  role. 


PART  II 


CHRISTMAS  EVENING 
I. — AT     LILJEDAHL 

It  was  Christmas,  when  from  palace  to  hovel  there 
is  festivity.  But  festivities  are  very  diverse  in  char- 
acter. 

Candelabras  are  ablaze  in  the  abodes  of  the  rich; 
the  children  dance  round  the  sparkling  Christmas  tree, 
waiting  impatiently  for*  the  costly  presents  with  which 
parents,  brothers,  sisters,  and  friends  have  loaded  it; 
crystal  chandeliers  glitter;  the  ravishing  strains  of 
music  incite  to  the  whirling  waltz;  cheeks  burn  and 
hearts  beat  faster  with  joy,  with  desire,  with  hope. 
The  festal  board  in  the  great  dining-hall  groans  under 
its  burden  of  savory  dishes;  the  wines  sparkle  in  crys- 
tal decanters;  silver  tankards  filled  with  foaming  ale, 
tempting  cakes  and  other  delicacies  go  the  rounds  of 
the  assembled  guests.  But  devotion,  prayers  and 
thanksgiving,  where  are  they? 

One  may  seek  them  in  vain  in  the  shining  magnifi- 
cence of  the  grand  salon.  It  may  be  because  their 
guests  would  blush  to  throw  off  their  disguises.  Feel- 
ings the  holiest,  the  most  pure,  how  often  they  must 
be  caged  like  a  bird,  and  if  they  soar  out,  scorn,  satire 
and  ridicule,  stand  ready  to  clip  their  wings. 

Will  we  be  charged  with  injustice  if  we  venture 
such  an  assertion? 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  175 

Well,  then,  ye  of  the  aristocracy,  great  and  ncble, 
ye  who  are  surrounded  by  all  that  riches  and  luxury 
can  demand,  we  ask  you:  Who  of  you  would  dare 
defy  public  opinion?  Who  of  you,  upon  a  festal  even- 
ing, when  the  ball  has  ended,  would  dare  gather 
round  you  the  guests  and  housefolk,  and  in  a  com- 
munion of  prayer,  call  the  blessings  of  the  Most  High 
upon  the  assemblage,  send  up  a  grateful  thanksgiving 
to  Him  who  is  the  giver  of  all  good?  Who  of  you  would 
be  at  all  so  inclined?  Would  you  not,  if  some  one 
should  insist  upon  it  as  something  beautiful,  as  a  duty, 
with  shrug  of  shoulders  answer,  "Bah,  such  childish- 
ness?" Nevertheless,  Christmas  is  not  an  occasion  for 
gormandizing,  drunkenness,  and  the  dance.  In  the  un- 
pretentious cottage,  the  mother  by  her  single  light 
reads  aloud  from  the  psalm-book  or  Bible  to  a  group 
of  children,  and  the  father  places  one  of  his  few 
sheaves  of  wheat  upon  the  fence  that  even  the  fowls 
of  the  air  may  be  gladdened  and  say,  "This  is  Christ- 
mas." 

At  Liljedahl  it  was  also  Christmas.  We  will  intro- 
duce the  reader  to  the  grand  salon  thereof. 

The  lamps  have  just  been  lighted.  Every  apartment 
gleams  with  splendor. 

On  a  divan  sits  the  lady,  carelessly  turning  over  a 
number  of  engravings  that  lie  on  a  table  before  her. 
Her  toilet  is  of  the  choicest.  Silks  rustle  at  every 
movement. 

The  baron  is  pacing  the  floor  to  and  fro,  while  the 
children  gather  around  the  princely  yule-table. 

We  need  hardly  inform  the  reader  that  this  family, 
thus  presented,  is  the  same  whose  acquaintance  we 
have  already  made  upon  three  separate  occasions,  in 
which  the  widow's  son,  Maurits  Sterner,  was  the  most 
conspicuous  personage. 


176  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Baron  Ehrenstam  had  recently  taken  possession  of 
the  estate,  his  father,  the  old  baron,  having  died  a 
few  months  ago  at  the  advanced  age  of  eighty.  The 
present  owner  had  moved  down  from  the  capital  where 
he  had  formerly  resided,  and  had  at  once  established 
his  residence,  with  his  family,  upon  the  magnificent 
property  to  which  he  was  sole  heir. 

Colonel  Baron  Ehrenstam  was  no  longer  young.  He 
had  seen  his  fiftieth  year  and  his  locks  had  already 
begun  to  show  a  sprinkling  of  gray.  Years,  however, 
had  not  at  all  mellowed  his  character. 

He  had  once  before  been  married,  and  had  a  son  by 
his  first  wife.  This  son  had  come  to  a  most  unfortu- 
nate end,  and  the  baron  mourned  him  long  and  deeply; 
deeper  than  one  would  believe  possible  for  him.  He 
mourned  in  the  deceased  the  image  of  himself. 

He  had  again  married,  one  of  the  most  illustrious 
and  wealthy  ladies  of  the  capital.  By  her,  two  chil- 
dren had  been  born  to  him,  George  and  Isabella,  the 
former  now  ten,  and  the  latter  eight  years  old. 

Besides  these  four  persons,  there  was  a  fifth  occu- 
pant of  the  salon,  to  whom  we  have  also  introduced 
the  reader.  This  person  was  Magister  Holmer,  who 
had  been  George's  tutor  for  a  number  of  years,  though 
God  knows  his  pains  had  not  borne  any  special  fruit. 

Magister  Holmer  was  thirty  years  old,  and  his  face, 
though  far  from  handsome,  possessed  an  indescribable 
gentleness.  Its  features,  animated  by  kindness  and 
love,  bespoke  an  indefatigable  spirit  of  inquiry  into 
the  things  of  the  world.  A  melancholy  smile  often 
flitted  over  it;  but  that  smile  showed  nothing  bitter 
nor  dark.  Magister  Holmer's  spirit,  noble,  sensitive, 
and  devoid  of  all  selfishness,  experienced  pain  as  keen 
at  the  misfortunes  of  others  as  if  they  had  been  his 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  177 

own.  The  melancholy  that  floated  over  his  features 
did  not,  therefore,  have  its  source  in  his  own  sufferings 
and  struggles,  though  even  they  were  not  few.  It  ut- 
tered only  a  noble  heart's  submissive  sorrow  over  the 
injustices  of  life,  over  the  perpetual  battle  between 
the  evil  and  the  good  ever  prevailing  throughout  the 
world. 

Holmer  had  always  been  poor.  His  parents  were 
peasants,  and  it  was  only  at  the  cost  of  numberless 
privations  that  the  young  man  had  fought  his  way  up- 
ward to  the  position  he  for  the  present  occupied.  Five 
years  ago  he  had  entered  the  house  of  the  baron  as  in- 
structor to  the  baron's  son.  His  principal,  unwilling 
to  lose  this  zealous  young  man,  whose  tireless  pa- 
tience he  fully  appreciated,  had,  in  order  to  retain  him, 
bound  him  by  a  promise.  The  promise  was,  in  effect, 
that  alter  a  certain  number  of  years  of  service  Holmer, 
with  his  pupil,  should  be  permitted  to  go  abroad,  after 
which  he  was  to  receive  the  use  of  a  small  farm  in 
consideration  of  his  services,  said  farm  to  revert  to 
the  Liljedahl  estate  at  the  death  of  the  baron.  By 
virtue  of  this  agreement,  the  young  man  saw  his  most 
extravagant  hopes  in  a  fair  way  toward  realization. 
The  greatest  happiness  he  had  ever  allowed  his  dreams 
to  indulge  in  was  the  possession  of  a  quiet  little  home 
where  he  could  pass  his  life  in  that  fascinating  employ- 
ment to  which  his  noble  heart  had  called  him — an  oc- 
cupation that  should,  to  the  utmost  of  his  power,  en. 
able  him  to  carry  blessings  and  comfort  to  the  needy 
and  suffering  children  of  the  land.  This  happiness 
was  now  so  near  that  he  could  patiently  endure  all  the 
humiliations  to  which  he  was  so  often  subjected  in 
that  lordly  household.  Therefore,  he  strove  and  la- 
bored from  morn  to  eve  with  his  dull  and  ofttimes. 


178  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

refractory  pupil;  therefore  he  did  not  allow  his  pa- 
tience to  desert  him  at  sight  of  the  coldness,  the 
egoism  and  want  of  love  that  ruled  in  that  wealthy 
and  illustrious  house. 

They  were,  however,  long  and  painful  years  to  the 
young  man.  There  was  only  a  single  gleam  of  light 
that  made  them  endurable,  and  that  was  the  little  Is- 
abella. This  little  girl  had  attached  herself  to  her 
teacher  with  the  deepest  manifestations  of  affection. 
Often  obstinate  and  self-willed  in  the  presence  of  her 
parents,  and  continually  at  variance  with  her  brother, 
she  was  always  compliant  and  mild  when  with  her 
teacher,  Holmer. 

He  was  much  interested,  therefore,  in  the  upbuild- 
ing of  that  soul  whose  unusual  talent  he  saw  with  sur- 
prise, and  she  would  sit  at  his  feet  long  hours,  and 
read  and  question  with  an  interest  that  seemed  never 
to  flag.  "She  shall  preserve  me  unharmed  from  all 
that  I  must  surfer,"  thought  he.  "Into  her  I  shall 
pour  my  soul,  and  she  shall  understand  me." 

These  thoughts  comforted  him  and  nourished  in  him 
the  hopes  of  a  better  future — gave  him  strength  to 
perform  his  duties. 

Baron  Ehrenstam,  as  we  have  said,  paced  with  rapid 
steps  back  and  forth  across  the  salon,  while  the  bar- 
oness continued  turning  over  the  engravings,  and  the 
children  amused  themselves  at  the  table,  and  with  the 
thoughts  of  the  Christmas  presents  they  were  about  to 
receive. 

Magister  Holmer  sat  quietly  in  his  corner,  buried  in 
the  contemplation  of  the  firmament,  upon  whose  deep 
blue  expanse  millions  o.f  stars  sparkled. 

"Cecilia,"  said  the  baron,  pausing  in  front  of  his 
wife,  "I  have  neglected  to  say  to  you  that  we  must 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  179 

have  a  great  dinner  next  Sunday,  and  a  dance  in  the 
evening.  Will  you  attend  to  the  preparations?" 

"But,  my  dear  Alfred,"  answered  the  baroness,  "you 
forget  that  we  are  yet  in  mourning.  It  is  hardly  five 
months  since  your  father  died." 

"Well,  what  of  that?  Shall  the  death  of  an  old 
man  of  eighty  hinder  me  from  giving  a  dinner  some 
months  later?  Nonsense!  " 

"As  you  will,  my  friend,"  .said  the  baroness,  in  some 
astonishment  at  the  stern  gaze  fixed  upon  her,  "and 
whom  shall  we  invite?" 

"Before  all,  our  neighbor,  Count  Stjernekrantz,  who 
has  returned  from  his  many  years  of  travel.  It  is  in 
reality  on  his  account  that  I  would  give  the  dinner. 
As  for  the  other  guests,  I  have  made  a  list  which  I 
will  give  you. " 

"Count  Stjernekrantz  has  then  returned?" 

"Yes,  and  he  now  intends  to  settle  down  at  Odens- 
vik.  I  confess,"  continued  the  baron  with  lowered 
voice,  seating  himself  by  the  side  of  his  wife,  "that 
I  wish  to  win  Count  Stjernekrantz  over  to  a  scheme  I 
have  conceived. " 

"And  what  is  your  scheme?' 

The  baron  glanced  at  Isabella,  who  at  the  instant 
was  engaged  in  a  heated  dispute  with  her  brother  over 
a  ginger-cake  which  each  was  claiming,  and  continued, 
"I  have  been  thinking  of  the  count  as  a  suitable  hus- 
band for  our  daughter  when  she,  in  a  few  years,  has 
attained  to  womanhood.  The  count  is  yet  quite  a 
young  man,  only  a  few  and  twenty  years  old,  is  im- 
mensely wealthy,  and  we  have,  as  you  know,  a  corre- 
spondingly large  fortune.  We  could,  at  our  death, 
leave  Liljedahl  to  Isabella;  that  would  entirely 
satisfy  the  count,  since  it  joins  his  own  estates. 


l8o  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

George  can  have  the  estate  in  Ostergothland,  together 
with  the  ready  money  and  other  personal  property  I 
possess,  which  is  estimated  at  double  the  worth  of 
Liljedahl.  Well,  my  friend,  what  say  you  to  my 
scheme?  " 

"It  is  very  good,"  answered  the  baroness,  "but  do 
you  believe  that  the  count  will  agree  to  wait  so  long? 
It  cannot  be  sooner  than  eight  or  nine  years  that  Isa- 
bella can  become  a  bride." 

"Bah!"  said  the  baron  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
"why  can  he  not  wait?  I  shall  lay  my  proposition 
frankly  before  him,  and  I  have  little  doubt  that  he 
will  accept  it.  A  more  promising  arrangement  for 
both  parties  could  not  well  be  conceived." 

The  conversation  of  the  parents  was  interrupted  by 
a  loud  noise  from  the  corner  of  the  room  where  the 
yule-table  was  standing,  to  which  the  eyes  of  both  were 
turned. 

Isabella  lay  prostrate  on  the  floor,  for  her  brother, 
during  the  strife  for  the  ginger-snap,  had  struck  his 
little  sister  a  heavy  blow  that  knocked  her  headlong 
off  her  feet. 

"What  is  all  this  noise  about,  children!"  exclaimed 
the  baron,  vehemently.  "Can  you  never  learn  to  agree? 
Stand  up,  Isabella." 

Isabella  rose.  She  shed  no  tears.  No  sound  of  pain 
escaped  her,  but  her  glance  met  her  brother's  with  an 
expression  of  contempt. 

"Papa!"  cried  George  craftily,  "Isabella  would  take 
my  ginger-snap.  She  has  already  eaten  hers  and  now 
wants  mine  also." 

"Come  here,  Isabella,"  said  the  baron  severely. 

The  little  girl  had  seated  herself  upon  a  footstool 
in  a  corner  of  the  salon.  She  did  not  move.  She  an- 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  l8l 

swered  not  a  word  at  her  father's  command,  but  con- 
tinued, with  her  head  resting  between  her  hands,  to 
contemplate  the  floor. 

"Did  you  hear  what  your  papa  said,  my  dear?"  in- 
quired the  baroness  anxiously,  for  she  observed  that  a 
storm  was  approaching. 

"Isabella,"  said  the  baron  with  affected  calmness, 
"will  you  obey,  and  come  here?" 

The  same  inattention  on  the  part  of  the  child. 

"Isabella,"  now  said  Holmer,  with  his  gentle,  per- 
suasive voice,  "why  does  not  Isabella  obey  her  parents? 
It  is  very  wrong." 

The  girl  lifted  her  head  hastily  at  the  sound  of  that 
mild  voice,  and  noticed  that  the  teacher's  eyes  were 
fastened  upon  her  with  an  expression  of  disapproval 
and  reproach. 

She  arose  at  once,  went  forward  to  the  sofa,  and 
placed  herself  silently  before  the  baron,  who  eyed  her 
with  a  frown. 

"Isabella,"  said  he,  "why  are  you  so  persistently 
disobedient?" 

The  girl  made  no  answer,  but,  as  it  seemed,  wholly 
without  fear,  steadily  returned  the  glance  of  her  father. 

"You  do  not  answer  me.  Young  one!  "  roared  he, 
at  the  same  time  grasping  the  child's  arm  heavily, 
"George  declares  that  you  would  take  his  ginger-cake, 
and  you  are  silent." 

"George  lied,"   answered  Isabella. 

"If  true,  why  did  you  not  say  so?" 

"Because  I  know  that  in  any  case  justice  will  not  be 
done  me. " 

"Do  not  believe  her,  papa,"  George  burst  forth,  "it 
is  she  who  lies." 

"Be    quiet,     boy!"      cried    the    baroness.     "Truly  a 


1 82  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

very  elevating  scene  for  Christmas  eve.  My  dear  Al- 
fred," continued  she,  turning  to  the  baron,  "it  is  pos- 
sible that  Isabella  is  innocent.  Whose  was  the  cake, 
my  little  girl,  )'ours  or  George's?" 

"Mine,"  answered  Isabella. 

"No,  it  was  mine!  "  screamed  George.  "She  had 
alread)'  eaten  hers." 

Isabella  did  not  reply,  but  only  looked  at  her  brother 
from  her  great  dark  eyes. 

George  could  not  endure  the  glance,  and  fastened 
his  on  the  floor. 

"It  is  clear  that  it  is  the  girl  who  tells  a  falsehood," 
the  baron  exclaimed.  "Her  silence,  her  embarrassment, 
condemn  her." 

"I  cannot  believe  it,"  said  the  baroness,  trembling 
at  her  own  temerity,  "poor  Isabella  is  surely  innocent." 

"Indeed,"  said  the  baron,  contracting  his  brow. 
"Madame,  in  her  wisdom,  believes  this,  no  doubt. " 

"Mamma  may  believe  what  she  will,"  exclaimed 
George,  who  with  insolence  again  raised  his  eyes, 
"papa  believes  me,  and  that  is  enough." 

"George,"  now  interposed  Holmer,  who  rose  and 
approached  the  boy  upon  whose  arm  he  laid  his  hand, 
at  the  same  time  gazing  earnestly  and  searchingly  into 
his  eyes,  "George,  it  is  you  who  bear  false  witness. 
It  was  not  yours.  It  was  your  little  sister's  ginger- 
cake,  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"Yes,  Magister  is  always  on  the  side  of  Isabella," 
cried  the  boy;  "but  it  is  papa  who  rules  here." 

"Here!"  said  the  baron,  with  a  fierce  glance  at  the 
interlocutor.  "When  I  am  present  you  need  not  med- 
dle with  the  children's  conduct  and  discipline." 

Again  the  melancholy  smile  played  over  the  face  of 
the  young  man.  With  a  sigh  he  answered  gently  and 
earnestly: 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  183 

"I  tnought  to  do  right,  Herr  Baron.  I  would  hinder 
your  doing  what  seemed  to  me  an  injustice. " 

"What  seemed  to  you!"  answered  the  baron.  "Is  it 
then  so  certain  that  you  always  see  the  right?" 

"Certainly  not.     But — " 

"Herr  Magister, "  resumed  the  baron  harshly,  "your 
business,  as  custos  momm,  is  confined  to  the  hours  of 
study,  and  the  hours  during  which  we  ourselves  can- 
not have  supervision  over  the  children.  Do  not  for- 
get that. " 

Holmer  made  no  reply,  but  casting  a  sorrowful  glance 
at  poor  Isabella  he  returned  to  his  place  at  the  win- 
dow. 

"Isabella, >;  resumed  the  baron  severely,  "you  are  an 
obstinate  and  headstrong  child.  Be  careful;  I  will  not 
be  played  with.  If  I  did  right,  you  should  not  have 
any  Christmas  presents  whatever.  ' 

"My  dear  Alfred,"  said  the  baroness  with  trembling 
voice,  "you  are  too  severe,  and  you  do  not  really  know 
who  is  guilty. " 

"Do  I  not?  I  know  that  you  have  spoiled  this 
girl,  and  that  you  have  made  her  an  insolent  and 
headstrong  young  one.  Go,  Isabella,  find  a  seat  and 
be  quiet.  We  will  discuss  this  further  at  another 
time. " 

Isabella  retired  to  Holmer,  sat  down  by  his  side, 
and  with  tear-brimming  eyes  looked  up  into  the  face 
of  her  beloved  teacher. 

"It  was  my  cake,  '  she  whispered  softly.  "You  be- 
lieve me,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  teacher  in  like  manner,  stroking 
the  dark  locks  from  the  little  white  forehead. 

Isabella  bent  her  head  upon  his  knee  and  wept. 

"Do  not  weep,  my  little  angel,"  said  Holmer  kindly; 
"I'll  relate  a  pretty  saga  for  you  in  the  morning." 


184  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Ah,  so  good!"  said  Isabella,  drying  her  tears. 
"May  I  come  to  you  in  the  forenoon?" 

"Yes,  yes,  and  I  will  show  you  a  new  book  with 
pictures  in  it." 

The  little  girl  bent  forward  and  kissed  his  hand. 

A  general  silence  prevailed  among  the  other  persons 
present.  The  baron  traversed  the  room  back  and  forth 
unceasingly,  uttering  no  word,  or  sound,  but  a  sigh 
sometimes,  showing  plainly  that  he  was  sorely  dis- 
turbed. 

"This  cursed  country,"  he  mumbled  with  set  teeth. 
"Why  did  I  move  from  Stockholm  to  breathe  the 
country  air,  and  repair  my  health?  Bah!  I  wouldn't 
give  a  doit  for  the  whole  land!" 

Again  a  sigh. 

"Hear  me,  my  friend,"  continued  he  aloud  to  his 
wife,  "play  something  cheerful  for  me.  It  will  take 
me  back  to  my  happier  days." 

The  baroness  arose,  went  to  the  beautiful  Vienne 
piano  and  struck  a  few  chords.  After  a  short  prelude, 
she  began  one  of  the  latest  compositions,  grand,  artis- 
tic, and — cold. 

"That  will  not  do!"  cried  the  baron  angrily.  "A 
little  dance  music  if  I  may  be  pleased." 

"It  were  better  that  you  go  down  and  get  the  list  of 
guests  you  wish  invited  for  next  Sunday^"  said  the 
baroness.  "It  would  be  quite  interesting  to  learn 
what  sort  of  people  we  have  for  neighbors.  You  know 
that  the  greater  number  of  them  are  yet  personnes  in- 
con  nues  to  me." 

"That  I  can  do,'1  said  the  baron.  "Let  us  have  tea 
afterward,  then  the  distribution  of  presents,  and  have 
done  with  this  blessed  evening.' 

The  baron  went  downstairs  to  his  own  room,  which 


CHRISTMAS     EVENING  185 

was  on  the  lower  floor.  Here,  after  some  search,  he 
found  the  sought  for  list,  and,  with  it  in  hand,  re- 
turned to  his  wife. 

At  the  same  instant  that  the  baron  left  his  room  and 
entered  the  clearly-lighted  hall,  the  door  leading  from 
it  to  the  garden  was  suddenly  opened,  admitting  a 
second  person. 

This  being  was  a  ragged  beggar,  upon  whose  pale, 
sunken  face  want  had  impressed  its  ineffaceable 
stamp. 

A  mass  of  long,  red  hair  fell  down  over  his  lean 
neck,  and  a  wild,  burning  glance  gave  to  his  whole 
appearance  something  terrible. 

The  baron  recoiled  at  sight  of  the  dreadful  figure, 
clad  in  misery's  uniform.  The  great  man  paused,  and 
looked  fiercely  at  the  beggar. 

"What  do  you  want  here?"  cried  he  finally.  "Do 
you  tnink  the  doors  of  my  residence  are  open  to  such 
trash?" 

A  scornful  smile  flitted  across  the  lips  of  the  beggar, 
but  he  quickly  concealed  it,  and  exclaimed,  with  plead- 
ing voice  and  suppliant  bow: 

"Sir,  it  is  Christmas.  All  are  rejoicing,  happy,  con- 
tented, except  me.  I  have  no  home,  not  where  to  lay 
my  head,  nor  to  spend  this  holiday;  not  a  piece  of 
bread  with  which  to  still  my  hunger;  no  clothes  to 
shield  me  from  the  cold." 

"What  does  that  concern  me?"  shrieked  the  baron, 
violently.  "To  the  devil  with  you!  Do  not  incite  me 
to  violence,  and  do  not  again  disturb  me  with  your 
lamentations,"  and  turned  to  go,  when  the  beggar 
rushed  forward,  grasped  him  by  the  arm  and  burst 
forth: 

"O,  have  mercy!     have     pity!      Give     me    some    old 


I 86  THE     PLAY    OF    FATE 

clothes;  give  me  to  eat,  and  let  me  spend  my  Christ- 
mas eve  among  your  servants,  noble  sir,  else  I  shall 
perish  of  cold,  for  I  know  not  where  I  may  find  shelter. " 

"Creature,  unhand  me!"  shouted  the  baron,  thrusting 
the  beggar  to  one  side.  "Out  upon  you!"  continued 
he,  brushing  his  coat-sleeve  with  a  handkerchief,  "that 
such  a  bundle  of  rags  should  touch  my  clothes!  Spend 
Christmas  among  my  servants,  indeed!  Did  ever  man 
hear  the  like!  Thank  you  kindly.  Spend  Christmas 
under  my  roof  in  order  that  you  may  avail  yourself  of 
the  opportunity  to  rob  me,  perhaps.  Get  you  to  the 
devil!" 

"Rob  }ou,"  exclaimed  the  beggar,  with  a  contempt- 
uous smile,  still  in  humble  tones.  "O,  do  not  think 
that.  I  am  poor,  but  I  am  honest." 

"You  honest!"  interrupted  the  baron  with  a  smile 
of  scorn,  and  in  a  manner  that  showed  clearly  how 
unreasonable  he  thought  such  an  assertion. 

"O,  sir,  be  compassionate!"  continued  the  beggar 
pleadingly.  "Think  in  your  abundance  of  those  who 
are  suffering.  Have  you  no  heart  that  may  be  moved 
by  their  need?'1 

"A  heart,"  said  the  baron  scornfully;  "no,  my  boy, 
I  am  not  troubled  with  such  a  childish  thing.  And 
what  would  it  serve  me  to  show  sympathy  for  such 
vagabonds  and  knaves  as  you?  A  prison  is  the  proper 
place  for  you.  Out  of  my  sight!" 

"Sir,  think  what  you  do.  God  will  one  day  punish 
you." 

"That  is  my  affair.  March,  now!"  And  the  baron 
opened  the  hall  door,  grasped  the  beggar  by  the  arm, 
and  would  hustle  him  out.  But  the  latter  caught 
hold  of  the  door,  .pushed  the  baron  away,  and  standing 
with  one  foot  on  the  threshold,  the  other  on  the  step, 
coolly  addressed  the  baron. 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  187 

"'Baron  Alfred  Ehrenstam,  you  are  not  a  man,  but  a 
wild  animal.  Curses  upon  you!  You  shall  one  day 
regret  this  hour.  Remember  your  son  who  was  mur- 
dered, and  him  whose  happiness  you  slew,  wretch." 

And  before  the  baron  could  gather  his  breath  for  a 
reply,  the  beggar  was  gone. 

"Was  that  he?  Could  it  have  been  he?"  said  the 
baron,  passing  his  hand  over  his  brow.  "Well,  if  so 
be,  what  does  it  matter  to  me?"  And  with  the  invi- 
tation list  to  the  great  dinner  in  his  hand,  the  baron 
slowly  ascended  the  broad  and  beautiful  stairway 
leading  to  the  upper  apartments. 

Later  in  the  evening,  beautiful  presents  were  brought 
in  for  the  baroness  and  the  children.  The  former  re- 
ceived a  costly  jeweled  watch,  and  Isabella  a  throat 
ornament  to  replace  the  lost  amber  heart. 


II. — CHRISTMAS     AT     ODENSVIK 

We  hasten  through  the  park  separating  Liljedahl 
from  Odensvik,  to  the  latter  place  to  observe  how 
Christmas  is  being  spent  there.  Introduced  to  the 
count's  bedchamber,  on  the  lower  floor,  we  find  it  a 
large  and  uncommonly  pleasant  room,  lighted  by 
twenty  or  more  wax  candles,  its  walls  hung  full  of  pict- 
ures, weapons,  shells,  books,  works  of  art  and  curios- 
ities of  many  kinds,  and  on  every  hand. 

Count  Eberhard  has  returned  from  the  continent. 
Having  tired  of  travel,  he  has  determined  to  remain 
at  home  at  his  beautiful  Odensvik,  relieving  the  mo- 
notony now  and  then  by  a  visit  to  the  capital. 

A  sound  of  gayety  is  wafted  to  us  from  the  aforemen- 
tioned chamber.  The  count  has  a  number  of  guests, 


I 83  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

young  men,  as  himself,  gay,  frivolous,  reckless  vaga- 
bonds, with  no  home  to  entice  them,  no  special  sphere 
of  activity.  The  count  has  invited  them  to  a  banquet 
and  card-part}'.  The  count  and  M.  Crispin,  who  has 
returned  with  him  to  Sweden,  and  with  whose  com- 
panionship he  can  no  longer  dispense,  are  both  very 
fond  of  high  playing.  It  gives  a  feverish  stimulation 
to  the  shattered  nerves.  It  is  the  means  which  still 
has  the  power  to  keep  up  the  tension  of  an  enfeebled 
mind. 

The  play  has  not  yet  begun,  but  all  is  ready  in  a 
large,  elegantly  furnished  room  adjoining  the  bed- 
chamber. Lieutenant  U — ,  one  of  the  guests,  has  will- 
ingly undertaken  to  brew  the  punch,  into  which,  at 
Eberhard's  suggestion,  he  has  poured  also  two  bottles 
of  champagne.  Lieutenant  X —  is  arranging  the  card- 
table  in  front  of  the  sofa,  while  Baron  Y —  is  warming 
himself  at. the  stove,  wherein  a  cheerful  fire  is  crack- 
ling. 

Upon  a  sofa  in  the  bedchamber  Eberhard  is  sitting 
and  beside  him  Crispin.  Eberhard  and  the  French- 
man are  conversing  in  an  undertone,  now  and  then  in- 
terrupted by  some  question,  a  call,  or  an  incursion 
from  the  other  room. 

"The  Christ,  yes,"  said  Crispin,  in  answer  to  a  pre- 
ceding observation  by  Eberhard.  "He  was,  without 
doubt,  one  of  the  greatest  geniuses  who  ever  lived  on 
earth,  if  his  history  is  regarded  in  any  other  light  than 
myth.  One  sees  through  his  whole  life,  in  his  every 
utterance,  the  effort  to  make  himself  popular,  and  in 
that  respect  no  one  has  been  so  fortunate  as  he.  It 
is  quite  true  that  he  brought  upon  himself  the  hatred 
of  the  Biblical  scholars,  of  the  high  priests  and  guard- 
ians of  the  temples;  but  such  is  the  unavoidable  fate 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  189 

of  every  demagogue.  As  in  all  times  before,  liberal- 
ism relied  upon  concentrating  upon  Christ,  so  to 
speak,  its  struggle  to  maintain  itself  against  the  reac- 
tionists, against  the  conservative  element  whose  rep- 
resentatives were  Jewish  priests.  The  latter  won  a 
temporary  triumph,  and  the  Master  was  nailed  to  the 
cross;  but  his  ideas  went  victoriously  on.  Why?  Be- 
cause they  were  divine,  it  is  said.  Bah!  No!  But 
because  they  were  purely  human.  Because  they  pre- 
sented an  idea,  a  conception  of  life  which  in  a  higher 
degree  than  any  other  impressed  the  masses  — moved 
the  simple  and  ignorant  multitude  who  feel  more  than 
they  think.  When  I  was  a  child,  I  too  was  swayed  by 
my  sensibilities;  Christianity  was  to  me  a  palladium; 
but  since  I  have  gone  through  life's  school,  and  have 
been  changed  from  a  sentimental  fool  to  a  thinker,  I 
have  found  that  I  was  paying  homage  to  a  beautiful 
pretense,  at  which  my  intelligence  revolted.  I  discov- 
ered this,  having  seen  that  love,  the  love  preached 
by  Christ,  does  not  rule  the  world,  but  that  egoism 
reigns  supreme;  that  it  alone  goes  victoriously  on 
with  gold,  talent,  and  genius  as  confederates.  And 
I  have  seen  this  omnipotent  egoism  hold  the  masses 
in  check  by  the  simple  force  of  piety  and  religious 
fervor  which  has  always  been  a  formidable  weapon  in 
their  hands.  I  have  heard  the  priests  thunder  from 
the  pulpit  against  infidelity  and  sin.  I  have  seen  them 
immediately  after,  with  a  scornful  grin,  thrust  the 
penitents'  offerings  into  their  pockets.  These  things 
have  impelled  me  to  abandon  the  ensign  of  love,  so- 
called,  to  do  homage  to  egoism.  I  know  full  well, 
however,  that  we  made  a  mistake  when,  during  the 
revolution's  greatest  fury,  we  abolished  religion  in 
France,  for  a  rabble  without  religion  is  not  easily  con- 
trolled." 


igO  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Mon  cher  Eberhard,"  called  Lieutenant  U —  from 
the  other  room,  "have  done  with  your  philosophizing. 
Come  here  and  taste  the  punch.  It  is  superb." 

"Good!     I'll  come  at  once." 

"And  the  card-table  is  in  readiness,"  shouted  Lieu- 
tenant X — . 

The  count  and  the  Frenchman  rose  and  repaired  to 
the  other  room,  where  Lieutenant  U —  already  had 
their  glasses  filled  in  waiting. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  count,  taking  up  a  glass,  "our 
manner  of  spending  Christmas  is,  without  doubt,  the 
most  delightful.  I  propose  a  toast  to  the  goddess  of 
pleasure,  My  whole  life,  thus  far,  has  been  spent  in 
her  pursuit,  and  even  to-day  she  is  here  to  bestow 
upon  me  a  happy  hour  in  my  old  fatherland,  from 
which  I  have  so  long  strayed  as  a  stranger  among  the 
vine-clad  hills  of  the  sunny  south.  Last  Christmas 
I  spent  in  Naples.  It  was  an  exhilarating  life.  Gay, 
fiery,  voluptuous  senoras  gave  me  a  foretaste  of 
the  golden  goblet  where  lachryma  christi  sparkles.  To- 
day I  am  again  within  the  circle  of  the  friends  of  my 
boyhood,  who  have  not  forgotten  me,  and  even  here 
are  goblets,  cards,  and  women.  While  life  lasts,  these 
things  to  command,  why  should  we  complain?  May 
our  pleasures  be  long  continued,  gentlemen." 

The  toast  was  drank  with  enthusiasm,  though  the 
speaker's  constantly  gloomy  features  made  a  disagree- 
able impression  upon  more  than  one  of  the  company, 
who  felt  it  to  be  in  too  great  contrast  with  the  cheer- 
fulness that  the  words  implied. 

"And  now  to  work,"  cried  Baron  Y — ,  at  the  same 
time  breaking  open  a  pack  of  cards.  "Life  is  short, 
but  art  long,  therefore  there  is  no  time  to  waste,  gen- 
tlemen." 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  IQl 

"You  are  right,  i/ion  frerc,"  said  the  count,  with 
an  effort  at  a  smile  that  gave  his  face  anything  but  a 
pleasant  expression,  "let  us  take  our  place's." 

The  players  seated  themselves,  cards  were  drawn, 
and  the  queen  of  spades  fell  to  the  count's  lot,  where- 
fore Crispin  became  his  partner.  Lieutenant  U — 
drew  a  king,  which  left  him  out  of  the  first  hand. 
While  the  others  played,  he  took  from  the  library 
shelf  an  old  book,  and  seating  himself  before  the  fire, 
began  to  read.  It  was  Cre"billon,  the  younger's,  "Sofa, " 
one  of  the  most  frivolous  romances  that  ever  appeared 
from  the  French  press. 

" Marbleu,  M.  Crispin,"  exclaimed  the  lieutenant, 
after  a  time,  "your  countryman,  Crebillon,  was  a  clever 
fellow. " 

"Bah!"  answered  the  Frenchman.  "With  us  his  ro- 
mances have  long  ago  been  relegated  to  the  nursery. 
Mon  dial,  Eberhard,  did  you  take  my  king?  You  must 
be  well  supplied  with  trumps." 

"Pardon  me,    mon  c/ier,   it  was  a  mistake." 

"Six  tricks  and  four  honors!  "  said  Baron  Y — . 
"Eight  and  the  rubber  makes  twelve  points.  Throw 
3;oiir  Crdbellon  into  the  corner,  mon  frere,  and  come 
here  and  draw.  The  hand  is  closed." 

"Let  us  not  forget  the  bowl,  gentlemen,"  cried  Eb- 
erhard; "a  glass  to  drown  our  ill  luck,  Crispin.  A  com- 
plete sweep!  That  is  outrageous!" 

:'It  is  your  fault,"  said  Crispin;  "why  did  you  take 
my  king?" 

Eberhard  made  no  reply,  but  filled  to  the  brim  a  glass 
of  punch,  conveyed  it  to  his  lips  and  emptied  it  in 
one  breath. 

"Let  us  sing,"  cried  he.        "A  quartette!" 

"Good!"  was  the  answer,  "but  what  shall  we  sing?" 


1 92  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"We  have  a  member  of  a  former  Jacobin  club  with 
us,"  said  X — ;  "I  say,  then,  let  us  have  the  Marseil- 
laise." 

"Cest  bon,"  said  Eberhard;   "aliens,  enfants." 

The  Marseillaise  was  sung,  to  the  no  little  pleasure 
of  the  Frenchman,  who  was  enraptured  with  the  wild 
tones  of  that  fearful  song  at  which  the  thrones  of 
Europe  trembled,  and  kings'  heads  had  fallen  under 
the  guillotine. 

"Now,  again  to  the  game!" 

This  time  Eberhard  was  out  of  the  game,  and  while 
the  others  played  he  drank,  drank  copiously,  without 
showing  any  signs  thereof.  More  than  once,  Crispin 
fastened  his  dark,  piercing  eyes  upon  the  count,  and 
smiled  fiendishly  when  he  saw  him  wildly  dash  one 
glass  after  another  down  his  threat. 

" Citoycn, "  whispered  Y —  to  the  Frenchman,  "I  fear 
that  our  charming  host  is  drinking  more  than  he  can 
carry.  I  notice  he  is  pouring  glass  after  glass  into 
himself." 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,"  replied  Crispin,  softly,  "he 
can  drink  gallons  without  the  least  effect." 

And  so  it  was,  indeed.  The  count  did  not  become 
at  all  intoxicated,  but  only  what  is  termed  cheerful. 
The  gloom  that  usually  overspread  his  marble-cold 
features  vanished,  as  the  wine  took  effect,  as  if  to  give 
place  to  gayety,  assuming  to  his  guests  a  cast  strange, 
unnatural  and  awful. 

Lieutenant  X — ,  perhaps  the  least  depraved  of  the 
company,  could  not  avoid  a  slight  shudder  every  time 
his  eyes  fell  upon  the  count.  He  seemed  to  have  al- 
most penetrated  to  the  very  depths  of  the  man's  soul. 

Meantime,  the  orgies  continued.  The  count  expe 
rienced  the  most  exasperating  luck  the  whole  evening. 


CHRISTMAS     EVENING  IQ3 

but  seemed  rather  exhilarated  than  depressed  thereby. 
When  the  playing  ceased,  and  the  bowl  was  almost 
empty,  he  arose  smilingly  and  paid  his  debt — such  a 
considerable  sum  that  many  needy  families  might  have 
subsisted  upon  it  the  whole  winter. 

"Supper  is  waiting,  gentlemen,"  said  he.  "I  have 
saved  a  pleasant  surprise  for  you,  a  little  feast  for  the 
eyes  for  a  Christmas-box.  Come  and  see." 

Actuated  by  the  liveliest  curiosity,  all  the  friends 
followed  the  young  man  to  the  festal  bedecked  dining- 
hall. 

And  see,  it  was  truly  a  surprise  of  surprises.  At 
one  end  of  the  table,  sumptuously  laden  with  the 
choicest  delicacies,  stood  a  young  and  lovely  maiden, 
clad  with  exquisite  elegance,  according  to  the  latest 
Parisian  style.  Gorgeous  as  arose,  ripened  under  the 
southern  skies;  with  dark, languishing,  half  closed  eyes, 
and  cheeks  upon  which  the  fine  purple  blood  tinted  the 
most  beautiful  lilies,  the  lady  seemed  to  the  entering 
guests  like  a  vision  of  the  highest  type  of  beauty  that 
Italy's  balmy  climate,  or  Hesperia's  glowing  sun, could 
possibly  produce. 

Overcome  by  admiration,  and  with  covetous  glances 
devouring  the  ideal  figure,  the  young  men  paused  at 
the  door  as  if  sun-blind,  shading  their  eyes  with  their 
hands. 

"Angela,"  said  the  count  in  French,  'allow  me  to 
present  these  three  oi  my  boyhood  friends,  Baron  Y — 
Liuetenants  U —  and  X  — 

The  young  lady  gave  a  bewitching  turn  of  her  little 
head,  while  two  small  and  most  lovely  dimples  were 
formed  on  her  cheeks. 

"1  hope,"  resumed  the  count,  "that  as  a  good  hostess, 
you  will  do  the  honors  for  my  guests.  Charles,"  con- 


194  THF    rl-AY    OF    FATE 

tinued  he,  turning  to  a  servant,  "have  you  brought  out 
the  Christi Lachryma  wine,  as  I  commanded?" 

"Yes,  Herr  Count,"  answered  the  servant,  "the  four 
bottles  are  here  in  the  ice  reservoir  on  the  buffet." 

"To  the  table  then,  gentlemen,"  said  the  count. 

The  host  and  his  four  guests  seated  themselves. 
Angela  presided  in  the  seat  of  honor  with  Crispin  on 
her  right  and  Baron  Y —  on  her  left. 

The  latter  was  quite  light-headed  at  his  neighbor's 
fascinating  beauty. 

"O,  what  a  lucky  dog  the  count  is,"  thought  he, 
every  time  Angela  turned  toward  him  her  lovely  head 
poised  upon  that  fine,  supple,  plastic  and  beautiful 
swan-like  neck. 

The  conversation  was  carried  on  exclusively  in  French 
which  language  Angela,  though  herself  Italian,  spoke 
fluently.  Witty,  lively,  facetious  repartee  was  ex- 
changed among  the  gay  guests,  champagne  foamed, 
and  the  intoxicating  bead  of  tKe  Christi  Lachrynuc 
wine  finally  crowned  the  brilliant  feast. 

The  young  Italian's  cheeks  glowed  like  the  dark 
grapes  from  her  fatherland,  those  grapes  upon  volcan- 
ic ground,  fed  by  an  internal  fire  like  that  which  blazed 
within  the  swelling  bosom  of  that  enchanting  south- 
erner. Her  conversation  became  more  lively,  her 
sallies  quicker,  more  .flashing,  more  genial,  and  to  the 
enamored  guests,  the  hours  of  that  night,  the  night 
when  the  Madonna  swathed  and  laid  down  the  Divine 
Chi'ld  in  the  manger  of  Bethlehem,  flew  like  seconds. 

"Beautiful  senora,"  said  Baron  Y— ,  as  he  filled  his 
neighbor's  glass  and  his  own  with  foaming  champagne, 
"allow  me  to  drink  your  health.  It  is  the  cold  north- 
man,  who,  set  aglow  with  the  fire  that  fills  the  south- 
erner's soul,  clashes  his  glass  with  yours,  his  glass 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  195 

filled  with  the  nectar  of  the  south,  to  testify  here  upon 
this  ancient  ground,  covered  during  eight  months  with 
ice  and  snow,  his  admiration  for  you,  whose  beautiful 
fatherland  knows  of  snow  only  by  name.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  that  snow,"  added  he  aside,  "that  trembles 
under  that  enviable  silk." 

Angela  smiled,  touched  her  glass  to  her  neighbor's 
and  emptied  its  fiery  juice  to  the  last  drop. 

"The  cold  northman, "  repeated  she  thereafter;  "no, 
Monsieur  Le  Baron,  do  not  say  so.  I  was  born  by  Gar- 
gliona's  banks,  but  I  venture  to  declare  that  warmer 
hearts  do  not  beat  there  than  are  to  be  found  in  the 
tradition  rich  regions  of  the  Maler  and  Wener. " 

"You  flatter  the  Swedes,  beautiful  Angela,"  said 
Crispin;  "we  call  them  the  French  of  the  north;  but 
that  is  a  phrase  that  will  bear  explaining.  In  luxury, 
in  enjoyment  and  extravagance,  they  will  surely  com- 
pare with  us,  but  when  it  comes  to  strength  and  deeds, 
they  are  more  lethargic  and  prudent." 

"Oh,  you  men  of  deeds!"  said  Angela  with  a  jerk 
of  the  head;  "you  are  intolerable  with  your  boasting. 
You  have  drenched  your  beautiful  fatherland  with 
streams  of  blood,  and  set  a  whole  world  in  flames,  and 
wherefore?  For  that  wretched  ambition  which,  in  your 
own  conceit,  has  made  you  the  world's  first  nation. 
And  since  you  have  burned  the  temples  of  liberty  and 
peace,  you  stand  in  transport  by  the  side  of  the  smok- 
ing ruins  clapping  your  hands  and  shouting,  like 
Herodotus:  'See,  this  have  we  done  for  our  immor- 
tality.'" 

Crispin  laughed,  but  resumed: 

<:You  forget  the  ideas,  senora.  We  have,  at  least  in 
the  beginning,  struggled  for  that  exclusively,  though 
the  mighty  waves  of  the  giant  tide  of  human  events 
dragged  us  with  them." 


ig6  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Ideas!"  cried  Angela  vehemently,  "out  upon  your 
ideas.  It  was  egoism  and  self  deification  that  im- 
pelled you,  though  I  will  grant  that  now  and  then 
there  was  an  honorable  fool  among  you  who  sacrificed 
himself  for  the  idea's  sake.  But  the  mass,  as  a  whole, 
were  led  blindly  by  their  passions,  and  by  demagogues 
who  cleverly  understood  how  to  rouse,  to  fire,  to  quench 
and  to  make  use  of  them  to  the  attainment  of  their 
own  ends.  And  while  you  dragged  your  triumphal 
car  through  the  streets  of  Paris  with  a  ragged  banner, 
on  which  one  read  the  words  Libertt,  Egalitt,  Frater- 
nitc,  you  put  the  whole  world  into  shackles,  and 
offered  the  noblest  blood  upon  the  scaffold.  No,  I 
cannot  bear  to  think  of  your  revolution;  it  is  more 
than  calamitous." 

"The  devil!  You  are  an  excellent  little  politician, 
beautiful  senora,"  said  Lieutenant  X —  smiling.  "Your 
health  for  your  defense  of  the  Swedish  nation  against 
that  cunning  Frenchman." 

Angela  laughed  and  drank. 

"You  have  also  been  well  punished,"  continued  she, 
turning  tc  Crispin.  'If  you  had  not  been  entirely 
blinded  by  self  love,  there  would  have  been  no  i8th 
of  Brumaire,  and  if  you  had  understood  how  to  develop 
liberally  and  opportunely  the  opinions  that  you  pro- 
claimed to  the  astonished  world  with  such  rashness, 
Napoleon  would  not  have  ridden  over  your  country  in 
his  car  of  triumph,  nor  the  Bourbons  have  taken  again 
their  tarnished  throne.  Then  the  French  republic 
would  still  have  existed,  and  you  would  have  marched 
justly  in  the  van  of  civilization,  whereas  you  have 
frittered  away  all  the  fruits  of  the  revolution,  and  now 
sigh  under  a  yoke  far  more  intolerable  than  before. 
All  this  demonstrates  that  you  are  great  in  words  and 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  IQ7 

headstrong  in  action,  in  which,  in  distinction  from  the 
Swedes,  you  always  advance  backwards." 

"That  was  fate,"  said  Crispin  laughing.  "We  are 
all  its  playthings." 

"Enough  of  this;  you  are  carrying  the  thing  altogether 
too  far,"  interrupted  Count  Eberhard,  raising  his  glass 
at  the  same  time  with  tragio-comic  despair;  "who  is 
the  wretch  that  led  the  conversation  into  politics? 
He  should,  at  least,  be  made  to  drink  a  mug  of  water 
in  punishment. " 

"The  devil  take  me;  it  was  I,"  said  Crispin  smiling. 
"It  was  I,  but  spare  me  this  time  from  the  punish- 
ment." 

"For  how  long,"  asked  Lieutenant  U — ,  "may  our 
cold  land  be  permitted  to  retain  you  as  a  guest,  beau- 
tiful senora?  You  are,  no  doubt,  sometimes  seized 
with  a  longing  for  home,  such  as  is  spoken  of  in  that 
beautiful  song  composed  by  one  of  your  countrymen, 
'Soderlandskan  I  Norden.'" 

"Next  spring,"  answered  Angela,  "I  shall  return  to 
Milan,  among  whose  lyrists  I  am  appointed  prima 
donna.  It  was  for  the  most  part  curiosity  to  see  the 
fatherland  of  Carl  the  XII  that  induced  me  to  visit 
Sweden  with  my  friend,  Count  Stjernekrantz. " 

"Ah,  you  are  a  songstress,"  burst  forth  Baron  Y — 
delighted.  "What  a  heavenly  pleasure  it  would  be  to 
listen  to  a  song  from  your  rosy  lips." 

"Who  could  refuse  such  a  noble  cavalier  anything?" 
said  Angela,  with  a  smile  of  satire.  "After  supper  I 
shall  have  the  honor  of  singing  to  the  accompaniment 
of  my  harp  one  of  Petrarch's  sonnets." 

"Delightful!"  cried  Crispin;  "I  am  sure  you  are  as 
great  a  songstress  as  politician." 

"And  I  am  sure  that  you  are  a  greater  gormand  than 


198  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

anything  else,"  replied  Angela,  with  a  side  glance  at 
the  Frenchman's  frequently  replenished  plate.  "Mean- 
time, we  may  resume  our  topic." 

"No,  peace!  peace!"  cried  Crispin,  touching  glasses 
with  her.  "France  and  Italy  rest  in  peace,  and  you, 
gentlemen,  must  ratify  the  terms  thereof." 

"And  the  terms?"  inquired  the  count,  smiling. 

"France,"  resumed  Crispin,  "recognizes  Italy  as  an 
independent  republic  governed  by  its  own  laws,  and 
with  its  own  inherent  rights.  And  now  comes  the 
worst,  France  acknowledges  Italy's  supremacy,  prom- 
ising fealty  and  homage  the  most  sublime." 

"A  la  bonne  heure,"  cried  Angela  joyously;  "the  con- 
ditions of  peace  are  accepted.  There  is  just  one  thing 
lacking. " 

"And  it  is — ?" 

"France,"  pursued  the  Italian,  "acknowledges  itself 
vanquished  in  the  struggle.  Not  by  the  power  of 
beauty,  but  by  the  power  of  truth.  It  acknowledges 
itself  felled  with  its  own  weapon." 

"The  devil  take  you!"  said  Crispin,  smiling.  "You  are 
an  unreasonable,  beautiful  Circe!  But  so  be  it.  For 
the  sake  of  peace  I  will  accept  even  that  humiliating 
condition." 

"More  Lachrymce  Christi,"  cried  the  count,  now  actu- 
ally gay,  addressing  a  servant. 

The  corks  flew  to  the  ceiling,  the  sparkling  wine 
foamed  in  the  glasses,  and,  with  merry  laughter,  all 
drank  to  the  peace  which  was  on  all  sides  ratified. 

The  guests  rose  from  the  table,  and  at  a  sign  from 
Eberhard,  a  servant  hastened  to  a  side  room  to  bring 
Angela's  harp. 

Angela  sang.  She  sang  some  of  those  charming, 
love  glowing  songs  that  the  fragrant  southern  night 


breezes  sang  for  the  burning  Tasso,  the  inspired 
Petrarch.  She  sang  in  wonderful  tones.  Harmonies 
full  of  pathos  and  longing  fell  upon  the  ears  of  the 
listeners,  causing  their  hearts  to  tremble  with  pleas- 
ure, with  pain.  And  the  glittering  strings  of  the  harp 
sprang  as  things  alive  under  fingers  as  white  as  the 
snow  on  the  top  of  the  Appenines  Tones,  now  melt- 
ing to  a  low  whisper  like  the  sigh  of  the  dying  echoes 
among  the  mountains;  now  like  the  rustle  of  the  sum- 
mer breezes  among  the  flowers  of  the  meadow;  again 
strong,  bold,  ringing,  like  the  decoy  bird  in  the 
southern  paradise;  yet  again  ringing  like  the  northern 
throstle  in  the  pine  top,  streamed  in  quivering,  vibrat- 
ing waves  from  the  lips  of  the  wonderfully  beautiful 
songstress.  As  she  now  sat,  with  her  raven  locks 
sweeping  like  a  cloud  over  her  lily-white  shoulders, 
her  eyes  burning  with  the  holy  fire  of  inspiration,  she 
seemed  like  an  embodiment  of  the  spirit  of  that  glo- 
rious song  which  is  breathed  over  the  Arno's,  the 
Tiber's,  and  Gargliano's  banks. 

The  song  ended,  but  the  listeners  remained  motion- 
less as  before,  with  bated  breath,  speechless,  listening 
with  eyes  immovably  fastened  upon  the  object  of 
their  admiration,  their  adoration.  Count  Eberhard 
stood  leaning  against  the  table  with  his  arms  folded 
over  his  breast,  his  dark  eyes  fixed  upon  the  singer. 
When  Angela  had  concluded,  she  arose  from  the  di- 
van. Her  eyes  met  Crispin's,  and  a  hasty  glance, 
such  as  is  seen  nowhere  else  than  in  Paris  or  Italy, 
was  interchanged  between  them.  The  count  did  not 
notice  this.  He  seemed  to  be  buried  in  his  dreams. 

"Have  you  ever  heard  anything  to  compare  with 
this?"  whispered  Baron  Y —  to  the  enchanted  Lieu- 
tenantX — . 


2OO  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"No,  the  devil  take  me  if  I  ever  did!" 

"I  would  be  contented  to  give  up  ten  years  of  my 
life  if  but  for  ten  hours  I  could  call  that  woman 
mine.  What  a  paradise,  what  heavenly  bliss!" 

"Hush,  Eberhard  may  hear  us." 

"Oh,  no,  he  is  wholly  occupied  in  contemplating 
her.  But  see  what  a  dark  glance  he  has  fixed  upon 
her.  It  seems  to  me  the  friend  of  our  boyhood  looks 
dejected.  He  never  appears  just  right  now  a-days. " 

"I  have  long  thought  so,"  whispered  X — .  'There 
must  be  some  deep  affliction  that  is  gnawing  him. 
May  be  his  beautiful  Angela  wants  to  desert  him.  If 
so,  I  do  not  wonder  at  his  gloomy  looks." 

"But  where  and  how  did  he  come  across  such  a 
treasure? " 

"Bah!  he  is  rich,  and  with  money  one  can  have  any- 
thing he  desires.  If  I  possessed  a  million,  I  would 
spend  half  of  it  in  the  effort  to  allure  that  siren  away 
from  him." 

"It  is  late,  we  must  go,"  said  Lieutenant  U —  ap- 
proaching the  speakers. 

The  guests  took  their  leave,  and  set  out  on  their 
different  ways,  after  kissing  Angela's  hand,  and  thank- 
ing her  for  the  enjoyment  her  talent  had  afforded 
them. 

Crispin  retired  to  his  room,  after  exchanging  with 
Angela  another  glance  full  of  significance,  and  a  good- 
night hand-shake  with  the  count. 

Eberhard  and  the  songstress  were  alone. 

"O  Angela!"  cried  the  count  passionately,  throwing 
his  arms  around  her  neck,  "how  beautiful  you  are!  I 
love  you!"  and  drawing  her  to  him,  was  about  to 
kiss  her. 

"Not  now.  Good  night,"  and  turning  away,  she 
started  to  leave  the  room. 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  2OI 

But  the  count  rushed  forward,  caught  her  by  her 
dress,  and  cried:  "O  Angela,  let  me  follow  you." 

She  turned  her  beautiful  face  toward  him;  a  smile 
of  mocking  contempt  for  a  second  distorted  her  lips, 
but  this  the  count  did  not  notice. 

"Eberhard,"  said  she,  "I  was  too  weak,  too  pliant, 
when  I  followed  you  to  this  frosty  land,  and,  too  late, 
I  have  repented  it.  You  must  return  me  soon  to  my 
fatherland. " 

"You  do  not  love  me,  then!"  cried  the  count  in 
tones  of  agony. 

"You  fool!"  said  the  bewitching  woman,  brushing  the 
locks  from  his  forehead  and  looking  him  in  the  eye; 
"did  I  not  love  you  more  than  my  fatherland  when  I 
deserted  it  to  follow  you?  But  there  is  a  limit  tc 
everything.  Take  me  back  to  Milan,  and  remain  there 
with  me.  Love  freezes  here  in  the  north." 

"O,  do  not  say  so,  you  make  me  wretched!  "  Eber- 
hard burst  forth,  pressing  her  closely  to  his  breast. 
"Take  my  life,  my  possessions,  take  all  that  you  will, 
but  only  love  me,  Angela." 

"How  many  women  have  heard  these  same  words 
from  your  lips,  Eberhard?"  said  Angela.  "You  are 
not  to  be  depended  upon. " 

"I  swear  that  I  have  never  loved  any  one  half  so 
much  as  you,"  cried  the  count  earnestly.  "You  alone 
have  understood  how  to  infuse  into  my  soul  a  flame 
that  consumes  me,  that  threatens  to  deprive  me  of  my 
senses. " 

"Good!      I  will  believe  you.      But  now,  good  night." 

"Angela,"  cried  the  count,  throwing  himself  upon 
his  knees  at  her  feet,  "why  this  cruel  coldness?  O,  let 
me  go  with  you!" 

"Very  well,  come  then,"  said  the  siren,  after  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation,  reaching  him  her  hand. 


202  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Eberhard  sprang  up  and  followed  her. 

III. — AT    THE    PARSONAGE 

Let  us  turn  from  the  salons  of  the  gentry.  We  have 
seen  their  manner  of  celebrating  Christmas,  we  will 
now  go  to  another  home. 

In  the  little  dining-rcom  of  the  parsonage  the 
candles  were  not  yet  lighted,  but  a  cheerful  fire  blazed 
in  the  fireplace,  and  around  it  all  the  members  of  the 
family  had  assembled. 

The  baking,  the  brewing,  the  slaughter,  and  the 
attendant  bustle  is  over.  The  busy  and  clever  house- 
wife has  been  flying  around  the  house  for  a  whole  week, 
arranging,  planning,  scolding  the  maids  and  the  men; 
molding  candles,  brewing  ale  and  other  drinks,  sweep- 
ing and  dusting  in  preparation  for  the  great  festival. 
But  it  is  now  finished,  and  we  find  her,  with  genuine 
complacency,  seated  at  the  side  of  her  husband,  sur- 
rounded by  all  of  her  children,  for  even  Oscar  has 
come  home  to  spend  Christmas  with  his  beloved  par- 
ents. She  looks  around  her  on  all  sides,  and  behold, 
every  preparation  has  been  made,  everything  is  well 
done. 

The  four  girls,  Marie,  Louise,  Lotta  and  Ulla,  full 
of  love,  press  around  their  father's  knees  while  Oscar 
sits  upon  a  footstool  at  his  mother's  feet,  and  is 
giving  her  an  account  of  all  the  beautiful  things  he 
has  seen  in  Gothenburg,  his  diligence  and  liking  for 
the  work  that  his  good  parents  have  allowed  him  to 
choose. 

Everything  betokens  the  utmost  peace  and  content 
in  that  poor  priest's  family.  Mrs.  Bergholm  herself  is 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  203 

in  an  unusually  mild  and  amiable  humor,  and  shows 
not  the  least  inclination  to  oppose  her  husband,  who, 
with  pipe  in  mouth,  smokes  and  spits,  and  looks  su- 
premely satisfied  and  happy. 

"Brita, "  said  the  pastor,  blowing  a  mighty  cloud  of 
smoke  into  the  face  of  his  wife,  "have  you  done  as  I 
directed  in  relation  to  poor  old  Stina,  Lisa  and  her 
sick  daughter?" 

"Yes,  my  dear  Bergholm.  I  have  sent  them  fresh 
bread,  a  candle,  and  two  sausages.  But  Greta  had  no 
wood,  and  was  on  the  verge  of  freezing;  I  have,  there- 
fore, sent  her  a  few  sticks,  and  some  warm  food.  Was 
that  right?" 

"Yes,  my  dear  wife,"  answered  the  pastor.  "We 
ought,  while  we  can,  to  help  those  who  are  more  needy 
than  we.  But  it  is  deplorable  that  the  rich  gentlemen 
at  Liljedahl  and  Odensvik  have  not . done  the  least  for 
their  poor  tenants.  They  allow  them  to  starve  without 
troubling  themselves  about  them.  If  it  could  ever  be 
that  the}'  come  to  church  I  would  give  them  a  sharp 
warning  from  the  pulpit.  Have  not  those  poor  old 
women,  of  whom  we  have  spoken,  some  claim  to  as- 
sistance, when  their  husbands,  through  their  whole 
lives,  drudged  on  the  great  estates  like  slaves?  But 
perhaps  the  count  and  baron  do  not  knew  their  con- 
dition. One  ought  then  to  call  their  attention  to  it." 

"Yes,  it  would  be  worth  the  while,"  said  Mrs.  Berg- 
holm,  "when  they  have  barely  time  to  attend  to  their 
pleasures,  much  less  to  think  about  the  needy.  It  is 
as  you  say,  both  a  sin  and  a  shame  that  they  are  so 
uncharitable. " 

"Yes,"  said  the  pastor,  "but  I  will  wake  them  up 
both  at  Liljedahl  and  at  Odensvik,  and  I  will  say  to 
those  gentlemen  that  the  Lord  did  not  give  them  such 


204  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

unlimited  wealth  to  be  consumed  in  such  idle  pleas- 
ures, but  to  care  for  the  needy.  I  shall  tell  them  this 
without  fear  or  favor.  ' 

"And  they  would  laugh  in  your  face,  my  dear  man," 
said  Mrs.  Bergholm.  "No,  let  the  rich-  take  care  of 
themselves." 

"Brita, "  resumed  the  pastor  seriouslyj  "it  is  my 
duty  as  a  saver  of  souls,  to  exhort  these  gentlemen  to 
be  humane.  There  is  not  in  all  Wermland  an  estate 
where  the  distress  and  wickedness  are  so  great  as 
among  the  dependents  of  Count  Stjernekrantz  and 
Baron  Ehrenstam.  The  count  has  recently  come  home 
from  his  travels,  and  ought-to  be  informed  of  the  act- 
ual condition  of  things  on  his  estate,  where  the 
steward,  an  industrious,  but  hard  taskmaster,  has  here- 
tofore managed  as  he  saw  fit.  It  was  otherwise  during 
the  former  count's  days  at  Odensvik.  There  was  a 
man  whom  one  could  honor.  He  himself  attended  to 
the  cultivation  of  his  lands  and  the  people  found  work. 
They  also  found  to  eat,  and  when  an  old  cottager  died 
his  wife  and  children  were  cared  for.  O,  hew  many 
have  suffered  misfortune  by  that  nobleman's  death! 
The  son  does  not  seem  inclined  to  follow  in  the  foot- 
steps of  his  father,  therefore  the  young  man  should 
be  warned.  But  ought  we  not  to  light  the  candles  on 
the  Christmas  tree  now  so  that  the  children  may  enjoy 
it,  wife?  Ulla,  my  chick,  tell  Stina  to  come  in  and 
light  the  candles." 

All  four  children,  Marie,  Louise,  Lotta,  and  Ulla, 
rushed,  with  these  words,  to  the  kitchen,  each  trying 
seemingly,  to  outscream  the  other. 

"Stina,  come  in  and  light  the  candles  on  the  yule 
tree!  Come  at  once!  O.  so  jolly!" 

The  pine  was  soon    aglitter,  and  was  placed    in  the 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  2O5 

middle  of  the  floor,  where  it  was  inspected  and  admired 
by  all. 

Oscar  particularly  was    almost  beside     himself  with 

joy. 

"Now  let  us  dance  around  it,"  cried  Lotta,  eagerly. 
"Come,  papa,  come,  mamma,  you  must  dance  with  us." 

And  the  parents  were  dragged  into  the  dance  by  the 
noisy  children  despite  the  opposition  of  the  pastor. 
It  did  not  avail  him.  Louise  caught  him  by  one  coat- 
flap,  Oscar  by  the  other,  and  the  rest  pushed  him  for- 
ward from  the  rear.  Mrs.  Bergholm  laughed  at  the 
pastor's  comical  manifestations  of  distress,  and  when 
he  begged  her  assistance  against  the  little  heroines, 
instead  of  helping  him,  she  laughingly  took  their  part 
and  grasped  him  by  the  arm. 

"Children!  Brita!  "  cried  the  pastor,  laughing  and 
scolding  at  the  same  time;  "are  you  wholly  possessed? 
Do  you  want  to  tear  me  to  pieces?  Now!  now!  now! 
now  !  let  me  go!" 

"No,  papa  must  dance,"  shrieked  all  at  once  jubi- 
lantly. "It  will  do  papa  good  to  dance  once." 

Resistance  was  unavailing.  The  pastor  was  forced, 
nolens  volens,  and  soon  the  whole  family  was  swinging 
lustily  around  the  Christmas  tree, 

Our  staid  philosopher  was  as  clumsy  as  a  bear,  but 
he  was  pleased  to  see  the  children  happy,  and  would, 
therefore,  no  longer  hold  back. 

"There,  now,  young  ones,"  shouted  he,  finally,  puff- 
ing and  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead, 
"that  is  enough.  Dance  yourselves,  now,  I  cannot 
go  a  step  further. " 

And  the  pastor  went  back  to  his  seat  by  the  fire- 
place, while  the  mother  and  children  for  a  time  con- 
tinued the  dance,  for  which  Marie,  who  had  an  excellent 
voice,  sang: 


2O6  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Deep,  deep  valleys  and  mountains  high, 
Here  are  friends  that  me  delight. 
Skip,  hop,  my  little  sugar-top; 
We  will  dance  till  the  sun  comes  up." 

Meantime,  the  girls  had  not  noticed  that  Oscar  had 
stolen  away  in  the  midst  of  the  exciting  whirl,  and  not 
until  the  dance  was  finished  was  he  missed. 

"Where  has  Oscar  gone?"  shouted  Marie.  "Did  you 
see  him  when  he  went  out,  girls?" 

No  one  knew.  All  wondered  and  guessed  and  con- 
jectured. 

Finally  the  door  opened,  and  the  girls  screamed  with 
joy  and  fright,  for  through  the  entrance  sprang  a  buck 
goat  with  horns,  and  very  respectable  horns  they  were, 
too. 

Nothing  was  wanting  in  the  make-up,  even  to  the 
woolly  coat,  and  it  trotted  in  on  four  feet,  though 
somewhat  clumsily. 

Upon  the  horns  hung  a  basket  filled  with  various 
well-sealed  packages. 

"It  is  surely  brother  Oscar!"  shouted  little  Ulla, 
throwing  up  her  hands  in  delight.  "Oh,  see!  he  is 
coming  here!  He  will  butt  me!  Help  me,  sisters!" 

But  the  sisters  laughed,  sprang  upon  the  terrible 
buck,  and  snatched  the  basket  from  his  horns. 

The  buck  made  a  vigorous  lunge,  rushed  around  the 
room,  and  wound  up  by  giving  Mrs.  Bergholm  a  lusty 
buck  in  the  back.  Whereupon,  vanishing  through  the 
door,  he  was  not  seen  again;  but  almost  immediately 
Oscar  reappeared,  and  laughingly  declared,  upon  his 
sisters  questioning  him,  that  he  had  not  seen  any  four- 
footed  animal  whatever. 

The  Christmas  packages  were  now  opened,  and  the 
presents  exposed  to  view. 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  2OJ 

Has  the  reader  ever  seen  children  on'  such  an  occa- 
sion? Ah,  what  memories!  lightsome,  cheering,  fresh 
as  springtime. 

There  were  no  costly  presents  here;  no  glittering 
ornaments  met  the  gaze  of  the  little  Bergholms;  but 
every  gift,  however  insignificant,  was  received,  never- 
theless, with  storms  of  rejoicing,  with  the  most  vocif- 
erous and  hearty  gratitude. 

Children's  books  for  the  younger  ones;  some  good 
German  and  French  works  for  Marie;  a  vest  for  Oscar; 
a  doll  for  Ulla,  and  similar  trinkets,  such  as  parents 
and  brothers  and  sisters,  without  a  considerable  ex- 
pense, could  give  each  other;  at  the  same  time,  so 
magnificent  in  the  eyes  of  the  recipients  as  to  occasion 
the  utmost  delight. 

The  father  received  from  Oscar  a  superb  copy  of 
Vergilii  Opera,  which  the  boy  had  purchased  with  his 
spare  money  at  an  auction  in  Gothenburg.  Oscar  had 
often  heard  his  father  express  a  desire  for  the  work, 
and  his  joy  was  unbounded  when  he  saw  how  pleased 
the  good  pastor  was  with  the  doubly  dear  present. 

"You  have  really  done  me  a  great  pleasure,  mi  file, " 
exclaimed  he,  patting  Oscar  on  the  shoulder;  "that  is 
a  rare  book,  and  how  beautifully  it  is  bound." 

"Yes,"  said  Oscar,  "but  I  got  it  at  a  very  good  price, 
for  in  Gothenburg  they  dp  not  care  for  Latin,  and  there 
were,  therefore,  no  bids  against  me.  But  in  the  morn- 
ing Maurits  must  come,  papa,  so  that  he,  who  thinks 
so  much  of  Virgilius,  may  also  enjoy  the  book.  Oh,  how 
I  long  to  see  him  again.  Has  he  grown  much?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  pastor,  "he  is  now  large  and  strong. 
But  you  may  see  for  yourself  to-morrow  afternoon.  I 
had  invited  him  here  this  evening,  but  he  would  re- 
main home,  wirh  his  mother,  the  good  boy.  Mrs. 


208  THE  PLAY  ()!•'  FATE' 

Sterner  seems  to  be  getting  feeble  again.  Poor  woman, 
she  will  work  herself  to  death  for  her  son." 

"And  no  one  offers  her  any  assistance?" 

"She  will  not  accept  it,  my  boy.  That  woman  is 
one  of  those  sensitive,  honorable  and  proud  creatures, 
who  would  rather  perish  in  poverty  and  want  than  be 
under  obligations  to  anybody.  Hitherto,  she  has 
managed  to  get  along  with  what  she  received  for  her 
work,  though  I  am  certain  it  has  often  gone  hard  with 
her.  But  on  this  point  she  will  give  no  one  her  con- 
fidence. Silently  and  unobserved  she  suffers  and  is 
wasting  away,  and  if  she  is  allowed  to  live  until  her 
son's  education  is  completed,  she  will  be  ready  to  die 
without  a  murmur,  for  he  is  the  one  object  for  which 
she  lives  and  struggles.  Oh,  she  is  a  noble  woman! 
A  most  admirable  mother!  " 

"And  Maurits?"  asked  Oscar;  "he  is  the  same,  lean 
believe.  The  same  good,  devoted,  childlike  disposi- 
tion; the  same  industry  and  the  same  aptness  in 
Latin." 

"Touching  the  latter,"  said  the  pastor  smiling,  "he 
has  in  it,  as  in  all  else,  made  great  progress.  His 
affection  for  his  mother,  his  uprightness  and  devotion 
are  the  same,  so  that  I  have  the  best  reasons  for  being 
pleased  with  my  pupil,  and  there  are  also  times  when 
the  poor  bo)'  causes  me  pain." 

"How  so,  papa?" 

"I  have  seemed  to  notice  lately  that  in  that  fiery, 
knowledge  hungry  soul,  slumbers  a  germ  of  the  deepest 
passion.  With  proper  guidance,  his  mind,  without 
doubt,  will  become  full  of  love  and  gentleness;  but 
should  he  at  some  future  time  be  the  object  of  mis- 
fortune, persecutions  and  wrong,  I  fear  his  soul  will 
be  filled  with  hate  and  bitterness  instead  of  love. 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  iOQ 

While  his  mother  lives,  she,  that  angelic,  pure  and 
devoutly  resigned  woman — so  long,  no  doubt,  will  her 
warnings,  her  true  Christian  wisdom,  have  power  to 
stay  the  storms  that  rage  in  his  breast.  But  if  he  loses 
her,  if  he  is  cast  without  guidance,  without  restraint, 
out  into  life,  then,  my  son,  he  will  struggle  awhile, 
and  perhaps  go  victoriously  out  of  the  battle;  but  it  is 
also  possible  that  he  will  succumb.  May  God  give 
him  strength,  for  surely  it  will  be  his  lot  to  suffer 
much— a  something  tells  me  this." 

"And  Mrs,  Sterner  has  not  yet  said  anything  about 
her  husband — about  Maurits'  father?"  asked  Oscar. 

"No,  I  do  not  know  who  he  was.  A  solemn  vow 
seals  the  lips  of  the  poor  mother,  and  I  respect  her 
therefor. 

"All  that  she  has  imparted  to  me  is  that  her  hus- 
band, before  he  married  her,  gave  her  an  education  far 
above  the  station  that  belonged  to  her  by  birth,  after 
which  he  went  abroad,  and  died  in  a  foreign  land, 
leaving  her  a  widow  and  a  mother  in  the  utmost  des- 
titution. He  died  by  an  unhappy  accident  in  the 
prime  of  manhood,  and  could  not,  before  his  death, 
release  her  from  the  pledge  he  had  exacted  from  her. 
This  was  that  she  should  not,  without  his  consent, 
reveal  to  any  living  person  the  secret  of  their  mar- 
riage. That  promise  she  holds  is  still  binding,  and 
with  wonderful  faith  she  has  kept  it,  notwithstanding 
she  could  at  any  time  have  demonstrated  the  right  of 
herself  and  son  to  a  portion  of  his  estate,  which, 
meantime,  has  fallen  wholly  to  another.  This  much 
she  has  related  to  me,  and  I  feel  convinced  of  the 
truth  of  her  narrative." 

"But  has  it  not  gone  far  enough,"  interrupted  Oscar, 
"that  for  such  a  promise  she  stiould  be  deprived  of 


210  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

her  lawful  rights?  Ought  she  to  stand  in  the  way  of 
her  son's  progress;  to  be  so  conscientious  with  one 
who  is  now  dead?" 

"Upon  this  point,  one  may  reason  for  and  against, 
and  I  have  often  given  her  such  a  hint.  But  she  be- 
lieves she  is  doing  right,  and  the  next  to  religious 
veneration  which  she  entertains  for  her  husband's 
memory,  forbids  her  doing  otherwise.  Whatever  may 
be  said  of  this  feeling,  it  is,  nevertheless,  holy  and 
admirable." 

"So,"  said  Mrs.  Bergholm,  by  her  entrance  inter- 
rupting the  conversation  between  father  and  son,  "the 
table  is  set.  Come,  my  man,  the  lut  fish  and  pudding 
will  be  cold." 

"Good,  my  dear  Brita,  good,  good!"  said  the  pastor. 
"I  feel  more  than  hungry.  Have  the  servants  their 
spread  in  the  kitchen,  and  are  they  merry  and  con- 
tent?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  and  they  have  all  received  Christmas 
prerents.  Stina  and  Johanna  each  an  apron,  and  Lars 
Peters  a  checked  vest-pattern.  They  are  now  eating 
at  their  best,  and  are  laughing  and  chatting  with  all 
their  might." 

"Good!  good!  We  will  then  taste  your  lut  fish, 
mother." 

Contented  and  happy,  the  parents  and  children 
seated  themselves  at  the  table,  and  the  lut  fish  and 
sweet  pudding,  though  not  of  the  very  best,  were  eaten 
with  a  relish  and  praised  by  all. 

It  was  a  simple  and  plain  meal,  its  best  condiment 
love  and  contentment. 

When  all  had  eaten,  and  quitted  the  table,  the  pas- 
tor seated  himself  in  his  rocking  chair,  and  called  his 
children  around  him. 


CHRISTMAS    KVRNING  211 

Little  Ulla  clambered  upon  his  knees,  and  pulled 
his  beard,  while  the  rest  stood  in  a  close  circle,  arm 
in  arm,  around  his  chair. 

"Children,"  said  the  good  father,  l;wehave  now  had 
our  entertainment,  and  have  been  happy.  God  in  his 
great  mercy  has  provided  for  our  bodily  welfare,  and 
though  we  are  poor,  we  have  spent  our  Christmas  in 
an  agreeable  and  satisfactory  manner.  But  you  know 
very  well  that  this  feast  has  a  much  greater  signifi- 
cance; that  it  is  our  Lord's  birthday  feast,  and  that 
before  we  retire  to  rest,  we  ought  to  thank  and  praise 
Him,  our  Savior  and  the  Giver  of  all  good.  You  as- 
sent, of  course,  my  children.  You  surely  feel  your- 
selves inclined  to  stibmissiveness  and  gratitude  to 
Him." 

"Yes,  indeed!  '  cried  all  the  children  with  feeling. 
"Read  a  psalm  for  us,  good  papa,  a  beautiful  Christ- 
mas psalm." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  pastor,  "but  go  to  the  kitchen, 
and  call  in  the  servants.  They  shall  take  part  in  our 
devotions. " 

Stina,  Johanna  and  Lars  Peters  were  summoned, 
and,  at  the  command  of  the  pastor,  took  position  near 
the  door,  where  they  stood  together  with  hands  clasped 
in  devotion,  during  the  prayers. 

And  the  noble  priest,  the  Lord's  worthy  interpreter, 
read  with  a  deep,  expressive  voice,  to  the  little  gath- 
ering. He  read,  and  all  hearts  were  expanded;  the 
eyes  of  all  were  filled  with  tears  at  the  words  of  God 
which  proclaimed  a  love  as  immeasurable  as  the  heav- 
ens, and  when,  at  the  end,  he  rose  and  with  prophetic 
voice  and  glance  pronounced  blessing  upon  them  all, 
they  fell  to  their  knees,  and  their  thoughts  were  ut- 
tered in  a  general  sigh  of  thankfulness  to  the  Father 


212  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

who  so  loved  the  world  that  He  gave  His  only  begotten 
Son. 

At  the  same  instant  that  Angela's  harp  in  the  spa- 
cious hall  at  Odensvik  was  filling  the  hearts  of  the 
listeners  to  intoxication  with  its  silvery  tones,  the 
humble  and  simple  priest's  family  fell  to  their  knees 
in  the  little  room  and  thanked  God,  who  from  the 
halls  of  the  stars  looked  down'  with  mild,  forgiving 
eyes  upon  a  world  that  had  fallen  and  was  again 
risen. 


IV. IN  THE   HUT 

Yet  another  picture,  reader,  and  we  will  take  leave 
of  Christmas  At  a  little  table  upon  which  a  coarse, 
but  snow-white  service  was  spread,  and  where  a  single 
small  light  stood  in  the  candlestick,  was  seen  the 
pale,  graceful  figure  of  Mrs  Sterner,  who  still,  though 
it  was  Christmas  evening,  and  though  night  had 
already  set  in,  sewed'  so  industriously,  so  swiftly,  to 
finish  the  work  she  had  undertaken  to  complete  before 
the  Holidays. 

Maurits  had  gone  to  the  spring  for  some  water. 
The  wan,  and,  as  it  seemed,  suffering  mother  was  thus 
left  alone. 

On  the  table  before  her  la)7  a  psalm-book,  and  while 
she  worked,  ever  and  anon  her  eyes  fell  upon  it  as  if 
in  the  fountain  of  the  blessed  words  she  sought  strength 
and  comfort,  courage  and  submission. 

Mrs.  Sterner  had  just  drawn  the  basting  threads 
from  her  now  accomplished  task  when  the  door  opened 
quickly,  and  Maurits  entered  with  a  filled  water-pail 
in  his  hands. 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  213 

"Are  you  still  at  work,  mamma  mine?"  said  the 
boy,  approaching  and  kissing  her.  "You  must  not 
sew  any  more  this  evening.  It  is  Christmas,  you 
know,  and,  besides,  your  eyes  are  weak  and  trouble- 
some. " 

"My  work  is  finished,  my  dear  Maurits, "  said  Mrs. 
Sterner  affectionately.  "We  are  now  at  liberty  to 
spend  our  Christmas  together.  See  what  a  pretty 
spread  I  have  put  upon  the  table,  and  I  have  also 
made  a  garland  of  the  whortleberry  bushes  that  you 
gathered.  See  how  green  and  fresh  they  look  against 
the  white  table-cloth.  Green  is  hope's,  white  is 
death's  color,  my  son." 

With  growing  concern,  Maurits  regarded  his  mother. 
She  spoke  with  a  manifest  effort,  and  her  eyes  glowed 
as  if  she  had  a  fever;  a  tinge  of  red  colored  her 
cheeks,  otherwise  white  as  death,  and  her  breast 
heaved  violently. 

"My  God!"  cried  the  boy  anxiously.  "You  are  surely 
ill,  mamma.  You  have  watched  too  much,  you  have 
worked  yourself  out." 

"I  not  well?"  said  Mrs.  Sterner  with  a  smile.  "O, 
yes,  my  son,  I  have  never  felt  better.  The  angels  of 
heaven  who  sang  at  the  cradle  of  Jesus  will  visit  us 
this  evening  in  our  hut,  Maurits.  I  see  them  coming, 
white,  radiant,  of  Godlike  beauty.  Their  harps  ring. 
We  will  join  in  their  exultation." 

"My  mother,  mother  mine,  you  rave,"  cried  Maurits, 
terrified  at  the  expression  of  her  face. 

"I  rave?  No,  my  dear  Maurits,  I  do  not  rave.  Do 
you  not  see  the  heavenly  forms?  Do  you  not  discern 
the  fragrance  of  lilies  and  heliotropes?  A  soothing 
breeze  is  playing  around  my  heated  forehead.  O,  so 
fresh,  so  delightful! 


214  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"O,  God,  what  a  Christmas  table!  Do  you  not  see 
it?  Angels  spread  it  for  us." 

Mrs.  Sterner  bowed  her  head  in  her  hands,  while 
Maurits,  appalled  at  such  unusual  transports  in  his 
poor  mother  bathed  her  temples  with  cold  water. 

"My  son,  my  son!  "  cried  Mrs.  Sterner,  lifting  her 
head,  "I  am  not  ill,  don't  be  afraid,  it  is  over  now. 
I  felt  for  a  time  so  strange.  I  have,  maybe,  worked 
too  much,  as  you  said.  My  mind  wandered,  but  it  is 
better  now,  it  is  past." 

"God  grant  it,  my  dear  mother,"  said  Maurits,  some- 
what assured.  "But  your  cheek  is  hot,  your  forehead 
burns.  Ought  you  not  to  lie  down?  Let  me  take 
your  arm  and  help  you  to  the  bed,  mamma,  and  sing 
a  song  for  you  before  you  sleep." 

"No,  no,  Maurits,  I  do  not  wish  to  sleep  now.  Is 
it  not  Christmas?  The  yule  candle  is  lighted  in  the 
homes  of  the  rich,  the  fortunate.  We  have  only  one 
candle,  and  no  lut  fish  or  groats,  no  Christmas  pres- 
ents, as  in  former  days,  bat  we  should  thank  God  for 
what  we  have.  We  have  his  Holy  Word  here  for  oar 
consolation  and  edification.  Let  us  satisfy  our  souls 
with  the  holy  repast;  let  us  be  happy  in  hope;  patient 
in  our  calamity.  O,  my  son,  my  son!  the  good 
Father  has  laid  a  heavy  trial  upon  us,  but  He  has 
done  it  that  we  may  be  redeemed." 

Maurits  did  not  venture  an  answer  There  was  a 
something  within  him  that  disputed  his  mother's  words, 
but  he  remained  silent,  for  he  would  not  wound  her 
with  his  misgivings. 

"My  gentle,  my  noble,  resigned  mother!  Shall  she 
pine  away  with  night-watching  and  work,  and  you 
look  upon  it  indifferently — thou  God,  whose  name  is 
continually  upon  her  lips? 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  215 

"It  is  said  that  you  are  a  Father  who  watches  over 
his  children,  and  yet  you  allow  her,  the  purest,  the 
best,  to  be  crushed,  while  others  unworthy  of  your 
kindness,  revel  in  luxury. 

"Why,  O  God,  why  must  this  be  so? 

"I  will  not  doubt  your  justice  yet.  There  may  still 
be  help  for  us.  Everything  may  be  made  good  again, 
and  our  sufferings  may  be  turned  to  gladness.  There- 
fore, O  God,  forgive  my  doubt." 

"Maurits, "  said  Mrs.  Sterner,  interrupting  her  son's 
thoughts,  "my  eyes  pain  me  severely,  and  I  see  things 
as  through  a  mist.  Get  the  psalm-book  and  read  to 
me,  then  we  will  prepare  our  meal,  and  you  may  taste 
of  the  Christmas  brew  that  the  good  pastor  sent  us." 

"Willingly,  mamma,  but  ought  we  not  to  first  make 
a  fire  in  the  fireplace — shall  we  not  have  our  Christ- 
mas fire?" 

"Yes,  Maurits,  build  the  fire.   That  is  a    good  boy." 

Maurits  took  from  the  scanty  stock  of  wood  and 
lighted  the  little  pile  in  the  fireplace. 

"See,  mamma,  now  I'll  read  for  you." 

And  read  he  did.  Thankfully  the  mother  lifted  her 
eyes  to  heaven  where  the  beautiful  stars  were  spark- 
ling, then  bowing  her  head  upon  the  table  and  cover- 
ing her  eyes  with  her  hands  she  wept  in  silence. 

Maurits  read  a  long  time.  His  own  heart  felt 
warmed  by  the  glorious  words  and  tears  streamed  from 
his  eyes  as  they  were  also  streaming  from  those  of  the 
always  deeply  reverent  mother. 

Maurits  paused  suddenly.  Mrs.  Sterner  raised  her 
head  and  looked  about  the  room. 

"My  God,  Maurits!"  she  cried,  "what  is  this?  Why 
have  you  blown  the  candle  out  and  why  has  the  fire 
died  down?" 


2l6  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Candle!  fire!  '  exclaimed  the  boy  with  growing 
anxiety;  "what  do  you  mean,  mamma?  The  candle  is 
lighted  and  the  fire  on  the  hearth  burns  lustily." 

"Does  the  candle  burn?  Is  the  fire  bright?"  cried 
Mrs.  Sterner,  in  a  voice  so  broken,  so  full  of  pain, 
that  it  penetrated  the  boy's  breast  like  a  two-edged 
sword. 

"Does  it  burn?     Are  you  certain  about  it,  Mauri ts?" 

"My  mother,  my  poor  mother,  what  ails  you?"  cried 
he,  beside  himself.  "Do  you  not  see  the  flames?  Do 
you  not  see  me,  me,  your  son?"  and  he  fell  at  her  feet, 
covering  her  hands  with  kisses  and  tears. 

"No,  my  son,"  answered  the  unfortunate  woman, 
trembling;  "no,  I  cannot  see  you,  I  shall  never  see 
you  again,  for,  O  God,  I  am — blind!" 

"Blind!"  shrieked  Maurits,  with  a  voice  of  terror/ 
"Blind!  O,  no,  no,  it  is  impossible!  You  jest!  It 
can't  be  so!" 

"Maurits!"  burst  forth  the  mother,  raising  her  sight- 
less eyes  toward  heaven,  whose  stars  she  could  never 
again  distinguish,  "yes,  it  is  so.  I  have  long  feared 
it,  and  now,  now  have  my  fears  been  realized." 

"Mother!  mother!"  continued  Maurits,  weeping, 
"you  blind?  O,  it  is  terrible!  And  can  you  now  be- 
lieve that  there  is  a  God  who  looks  down  with  love 
upon  his  children?  Will  you  still  insist  that  it  is  only 
a  trial  that  he  has  inflicted  upon  you  for  your  benefit? 
No,  no!"  continued  he,  springing  to  his  feet  in  wild 
doubt.  'No,  I  renounce  him,, I  do  not  believe  in  him; 
and  if  such  there  be,  he  has  no  compassion,  no  love, 
no  concern  for  those  who  suffer." 

"Maurits,  do  not  blaspheme,"  cried  the  blind  mother 
anxiously.  "How  can  you,  how  dare  you,  you  crazy 
boy,  lift  your  voice  against  the  Lord  of  the  universe? 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  217 

Down  upon  your  knees,  and  bow  yourself  in  submis- 
sion under  the  hand  that  strikes  or  heals.  What,  in- 
deed, is  this  miserable  existence;  what  are  its  sorrows, 
its  sufferings?  Shall  the  finite  worm  that  crawls  in 
the  dust  denounce  the  infinite  Being  that  created  him? 
O,  my  son!  my  son!  however  much  we  suffer  here 
matters  little.  Hope  remains  with  us,  hope  of  the 
coming,  the  eternal,  the  everlasting!  " 

"Hope,  yes,"  resumed  Maurits.  bitterly.  "The  rich 
hope,  and  with  it  we  must  be  satisfied.  Upon  it  we 
are  fed  when  we  lament  our  distress.  O  mother,  you, 
an  angel  in  goodness,  in  piety  and  patience,  that  you 
must  be  blind.  Wherefore?  wherefore?" 

"Maurits,"  said  the  poor  woman,  wringing  her 
hands,  "do  not  talk  so.  O,  your  blasphemous  words 
make  my  affliction  more  bitter,  augment  my  sorrows 
more  than  the  misfortune  itself,  with  which  the 
Heavenly  Father,  in  his  infinite  wisdom,  has  thought 
good  to  visit  me.  My  son,  my  darling  child,  my  first 
born,  my  all,  you  for  whom  I  have  suffered  so  much, 
prayed  so  incessantly,  O,  will  you  bring  your  poor 
mother  to  despair?  Will  you  abandon  the  belief  in  that 
which  she,  frOm  your  earliest  childhood,  has  labored 
so  hard  to  instill  into  your  young  soul?  Will  you,  in 
your  foolish  presumption,  renounce  God?" 

Mrs.  Sterner  ceased.  With  clasped  hands,  and 
anxiously-beating  heart,  she  stood  before  her  son,  and 
her  eyes,  those  eyes  in  which  the  last  spark  was  extin- 
guished, stared  as  if  endeavoring  to  penetrate  the 
darkness,  to  read  what  was  going  on  within  her  dar- 
ling's breast. 

At  this  sight,  the  bitterness  in  his  soul  was 
softened,  defiance  was  changed  to  sorrow,  and,  in 
tears,  he  sank  at  her  feet  and  asked  her  forgiveness 


2l8  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

tor  having  in  his  anguish  added  stones  to  her  burden. 

The  blind  mother  smiled  sweetly,  and  brushing  the 
locks  from  his  forehead,  leaned  forward  and  kissed 
him. 

"Maurits,"  said  she  consolingly,  'God  has  punished 
me  severely,  but  maybe  all  hope  is  not  yet  lost.  I 
may,  perhaps,  socn  recover  my  sight.  It  may  be  only 
a  sudden  passing  pain,  produced  by  over-work  and  too 
man}'  tears.  You  have  surely  heard  that  one  may  weep 
oneself  blind,  but  that  such  a  blindness  is  not  incura- 
ble." 

"Can  you  not  see  at  all,  mamma?"  asked  Maurits; 
"do  you  not  see  my  hand  as  I  hold  it  before  your 
eyes?" 

"No,  my  son.      All  is  dark,  dark  as  the  grave." 

"O,  my  God!  And  so  suddenly  the  misfortune 
came  upon  you.  I  did  not  know  that  one  could  become 
blind  at  once.  I  thought  it  came  about  by  degrees." 

"It  is  usually  so,  Maurits,"  answered  Mrs.  Sterner; 
"but  there  are  many  cases  in  which  the  sight  has  at 
once  and  suddenly  been  lost.  Besides,  mine  has  for 
a  long  time  been  weakening,  as  you  know." 

"Ah,  mother!  "  cried  the  boy  in  deep  pain,  "what  a 
Christmas  eve!  " 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Sterner,  "but  the  thoughts  of  your 
future  grieve  me  most,  my  boy.  How  can  I  work  for 
you  now — and  for  myself?" 

"You  shall  work  for  me  no  longer,"  said  Maurits, 
embracing  her  affectionately.  "No,  it  is  now  I  who 
will  work  for  you." 

"You!"  said  she  with  a  painful  smile,  "you  are  not 
accustomed  to  such  work  as  men  must  engage  in  for 
their  support. " 

"No,  but  I  am  young  and  strong,  and    can  work  for 


CHRISTMAS    EVENING  2IQ 

two.  I'll  go  to  the  manor  and  help  them  thresh;  I'll 
chop  wood,  I'll  do  everything  that  I  am  set  at.  O, 
we  will  get  along.  I  pledge  myself  to  sacrifice  the 
whole  of  my  strength  for  you,  mother." 

"And  your  studies,  my  child,  your  studies,"  cried 
she,  "how  will  it  be  with  them?" 

"Neither  will  I  neglect  them.  When  it  becomes 
dark  and  I  can  no  longer  work,  I  will  read.  I  have 
already  progressed  far  enough  that  I  can  manage  with- 
out assistance.  Books  I  can  borrow  from  the  good 
pastor,  and  on  Sunday  afternoons  I  will  go  to  him. 
and  ask  him  to  explain  things  that  I  do  not  under- 
stand. O,  mother  mine,  we  need  not  beg,  I  will  work 
for  us  both." 

Mrs.  Sterner  did  not  answer.  She  could  only  open 
her  arms,  whereupon  Maurits  sank  upon  her  breast. 
Thus  they  remained  a  long  time  in  silent  embrace, 
tears  from  the  sightless  eyes  of  the  blind  woman 
mingling  with  those  of  her  son. 


CHAPTER    II 

THE   BLIND  WOMAN   AND   HER   SON 

It  was  a  day  or  two  after  Christmas.  The  steward 
of  Odensvik  sat  in  the  inner  of  his  suite  of  rooms 
shaving  himself  before  the  mirror.  It  was  piercing 
cold  outside  and  he  had,  therefore,  ordered  a  fire  built 
in  the  stove. 

Possessing  a  pair  of  matchless  side  whiskers,  of 
which  he  was  very  proud,  and  with  which  not  even  a 
thousand  cans  of  brandy  could  tempt  him  to  pnrt,  it 
was  only  his  chin  that  he  shaved.  Added  to  this,  Mr. 
Sjoholm  was  the  owner  of  a  fresh  and  glowing  face, 
in  which,  however,  one  might  seek  in  vain  for  some 
manifestations  of  a  more  than  ordinary  intelligence. 
Yet,  "give  the  devil  his  due,"  the  steward,  "clipped 
and  scoured,"  would  pass  at  a  glance  fcr  a  man  of 
affairs,  and  might  even  appear  to  be  endowed  with  a 
certain  genius,  of  the  sort  that  may  be  termed  inborn. 
So  it  was  also,  and  upon  this  he  most  prided  himself. 
Next  in  consideration  came  his  good  looks,  and  the 
impression  he  knew  with  certainty  he  had  made  upon 
a  number  of  the  young  maidens  of  the  neighborhood. 

Little  wonder  then  that,  as  he  sat  before  the  mirror, 
he  sometimes  forgot  himself,  and  sank  into  a  contem- 
plation of  his  own  ego.  Not  the  inner,  but  the  outer. 
The  razor  rested,  while  its  owner  exercised  himself  in 
the  art  of  making  striking  and  pleasing  faces,  and  in 
poising  his  head  in  the  most  elegant  manner.  He 

220 


THE    BLIND    WOMAN    AND    HER    SON  221 

s~2med  to  be  perfectly  satisfied  with  these  experiments 
aivl  smiled  in  good  humor  at  his  own  image  before 
him.  Succeeding  this,  the  inspector  took  from  the 
window  a  glass,  wherein  reposed  a  half-withered  thorn 
rose,  which  he  pressed  gently  to  his  lips,  sighing  a 
name — the  name  of  a  young  lady,  of  course. 

In  this  room  there  were  also  other  things  worthy  of 
attention.  On  the  wall  over  the  bed  hung  a  pair  of 
double-barreled  pistols  and  a  saber.  Between  these 
warlike  emblems,  ticked  gently  a  large  silver  chronom- 
eter, resting  softly  on  a  watch  cushion  worked  in 
zephyrs,  displaying  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow. 
Doubtless  a  dear  memento  of  some  gentle  Chloe,  some 
languishing  Hilda,  Laura,  or  other.  Who  knows? 

Above  these  articles  hung  a  guitar,  still  quite  new, 
which  at  present  possessed  only  five  strings.  Nearly 
all  stewards  and  book-keepers  play  the  guitar.  They 
play  in  the  gloaming,  or  by  the  light  of  the  moon.  It 
is  so  romantic,  and  what  would  a  steward's  or  book- 
keeper's life  be  without  romance? 

The  steward  of  Odensvik  was,  moreover,  a  person 
well  versed  in  polite  literature.  In  a  corner  of  the 
room  he  had  a  stained  book  case  containing,  not  alone 
dissertations  on  horse  breeding,  the  care  of  cattle,  and 
the  distillation  of  brandy,  but  also  a  collection  of  ele- 
gantly bound  romances  and  poems,  and  even  a  Swed- 
ish translation  of  Jean  Paul's  Titan,  though,  truth  to 
say,  its  leaves  had  not  yet  been  cut. 

Steward  Sjoholm  cast  an  approving  glance  at  him- 
self in  the  mirror,  then  wrapped  his  dressing-gown 
around  him  and  took  down  his  guitar  for  the  purpose 
of  whiling  away  a  few  minutes  before  going  out  to 
oversee  the  work  of  the  day. 

Thrumming  a  few  preludes,  he  seated  himself  on  the 


222  THE    PLAY     OF    FATE 

bedside,  and  was  on  the  point  of  beginning  the  beau- 
tiful song:  "Bjenke,  for  the  Last  Time," — the  favor- 
ite song  of  stewards — when  the  door  opened  and  a  half- 
frozen  boy  entered. 

Mr.  Sjoholm  cast  a  careless  glance  at  the  intruder, 
picked  the  strings  of  the  instrument  a  few  times  more, 
then  addressed  his  visitor:  "Good  morning,  Maurits, 
have  you  my  night-shirts  with  you?" 

"Ah,  no,"  sighed  Maurits,  "mamma  can't  sew  any 
more." 

"Can't  sew  any  more!     And  why  not?" 

"Because  she  has  become  blind." 

"Blind!"  exclaimed  the  steward.  "Has  become 
blind!  And  how  did  that  come  about?" 

"I  don't  know,  indeed,  but  it  must  be  that  she  has 
worked  too  hard.  She  lost  her  sight  very  suddenly." 

"That's  bad,  very  bad!"  said  the  steward,  thrumming 
away  on  his  guitar.  "She  was  an  excellent  seamstress. 
You  may  then  bring  me  the  cloth.  Who  the  devil 
can  I  now  get  to  make  them  for  me?  Blind!  How 
ridiculous!" 

"Mr.  Steward,"  said  Maurits,  with  pleading  voice, 
"my  mother  can  no  longer  work  for  our  support,  and 
we  must  perish  if  you  do  not  take  pity  on  us." 

"I!"  and  the  steward's  brow  clouded.  "What  can  I 
do  for  you?" 

"You  can  give  me  employment  of  some  kind,  and 
pay  me  day  wages.  I  am  young  and  strong,  and  I 
will  endeavor  to  do  my  day's  work  as  well  as  any 
other.  Will  you  find  something  for  me  to  do?" 

"Hm!"  muttered  the  steward.  "That  I  will,  but  it  is 
a  shame  that,  having  been  designed  for  a  priest,  you 
must  put  your  studies  aside  now." 

I  can  study  evenings,"  said    Maurits,    sorrowfully, 


THE    BLIND    WOMAN    AND    HER    SON  223 

"but  my  blind  mother's  support  goes  before  all  else." 
"Very  well.      What  kind  of  work  will  you    have?" 
"Let  me  come  to  morrow  morning  and  help  with  the 
threshing.      When  there    is  no    threshing,  I  can    chop 
wood,  haul    timbsr    from  the  forest,    or  something  in 
that  line.      For  pity's  sake  do  not  den}'  me  this!" 

"You  s>hall  have  it,"  said  the  inspector,  who  enter- 
tained some  sympathy  for  the  boy  and  his  mother. 
"You  shall  have  it — but  I  have  forgotten — how  old  are 
you?  " 

"I'll  soon  be  fifteen." 

"Good!  I  will  give  you  twenty  four  skillings  a  day 
and,  besides,  you  shall  have  your  breakfast  and  dinner 
every  working  day.  At  dusk,  you  may  go  home  to 
your  mother  and  your  studies.  These  are  much  bet- 
ter terms  than  are  enjoyed  by  any  other  of  the  labor- 
ers, and  you  must  endeavor,  therefore,  by  your  dili- 
gence and  perseverance,  to  make  yourself  worthy  of 
my  kindness.  I  am  really  sorry  for  your  mother,  yet 
a  portion  of  your  earnings  must  be  retained  to  pay  the 
rent  of  the  hut  in  which  you  are  living.  Your  mother 
IKIS  paid  £his,  heretofore,  partly  with  work  and  partly 
in  money.  But,  since  she  can  no  longer  sew,  your 
wages  for  one  day  in  each  week  will  be  held  to  cover 
it.  For  the  other  five  days,  you  shall  have  your  money 
every  Saturday  night.  Are  you  satisfied  with  this?" 

'  O,  yes!  Thanks,  a  thousand  thanks!"  cried  Mau- 
rits,  joyfully.  "How  glad  I  shall  be  to  work  for  my 
blind  mother,  and  so  repay  her,  in  a  measure,  for  the 
love  and  care  she  has  bestowed  upon  me." 

"Very  well.  Bear  in  mind  that  you  must  be  in  the 
barn  at  sharp  six  every  morning.  We  have  still  a  great 
deal  of  grain  uathreshed,  and  must  make  good  use  of 
every  day  the  Lord  gives  us.  I  promise  you,  more- 


224  THE    PLAV    OF    FATE 

over,  that  you  shall  have  only  clean    work.     You  will 
not  be  called  upon  to  work  in  the  stables  or  distillery." 

"You  are  very  good,  Mr.   Steward,  God  bless  you!" 

"Nothing,  nothing,  my  boy.  Good-bye.  You  may 
begin  in  the  morning." 

"I  will  be  here  at  six  in  the  morning.  But  there 
is  one  thing  more  I  would  ask  you."  Maurits  hesi- 
tated. 

"Speak  out,  let's  hear  it,"  said  the  steward.  "What 
do  you  wish?" 

"You  have  so  many  nice  books,  said  Maurits;  "will 
you  not  lend  me  some  of  them  to  read  aloud  evenings 
to  my  mother?". 

"Willingly,"  said  the  steward,  rising  and  going  to 
the  book-case.  "What  kind  of  books  will  you  have? 
Here  is  'Jacob  Van  Buchenstein,'  'The  Urn  in  the 
Lonesome  Valley,'  also  the  'Aeronaut'  by  La  Fontaine. 
But  perhaps  you  prefer  poetry?  I  have  books  of 
poetry  as  well,  and  the  best,  1  promise  you.  Here 
are  a  number  of  Kjelgren's  works,  also  two  of  Leo- 
pold's and  of  Friedman's  epistles.  But  I  know  what 
will  please  you.  You  shall  have  'Dumfries  Castle' and 
'Kenilworth,'  by  Walter  Scott.  Your  mother  will  be 
pleased  with  them,  1  am  sure." 

Maurits  thanked  him,  took  the  books  and  departed. 

"It  is  remarkable,"  muttered  the  steward  to  himself, 
"how  much  that  boy  resembles  my  young  master. 
Well,  well,  there  are  strange  doings  in  the  world. 
May  be  the  old  count  has — hm!  It  would  be  very 
extraordinary  if  it  should  be  so,  and  if  Maurits,  igno- 
rant of  the  fact,  would  thresh  in  his  brother's  barn  as 
a  day  laborer. " 

The  steward  took  another  look  at  himself  in  the 
mirror,  and  tied  his  neckerchief. 


THE    BLIND    WOMAN    AND    HER    SON  225 

"It  is  too  bad  that  she  has  been  struck  blind;  she 
was  a  most  excellent  shirt-maker.  But  I  have  done  a 
good  deed  by  taking  these  poor  people  under  my  care; 
yet  I  am  charged  with  being  uncharitable.  And  why? 
Because  a  few  renters,  shiftless  and  unable  to  pay 
their  rent,  were  driven  off,  and  because  a  woman  or 
two  died  of  hunger  on  the  estate.  Curse  them!  Can 
I  feed  all  the  hungry  women,  and  fill  my  master's 
houses  with  sick  and  crippled  beings,  who  are  utterly 
useless  to  the  estate?  The  devil  take  them!  If  they 
can't  work,  they  must  pack  themselves  off.  That  I 
can't  help.  It  is  another  thing  with  Sterner  and  his 
mother.  I  will  help  them,  for,  first  and  foremost,  the 
mother  has  made  me  such  elegant  shirts,  and,  second, 
the  boy,  it  ma}'  be,  is  a  brother  to  the  count,  my  mas- 
ter, collaterally,  of  course.  Their  really  surprising 
likeness  seems  to  make  it  plausible.  We  shall  see." 

The  steward  began  again  to  admire  and  plume  him- 
self while  humming  the  refrain  of  a  lively  song. 

Meantime,  Maurits  bent  his  steps  toward  the  par- 
sonage, and,  upon  arriving,  at  once  entered  the 
pastor's  study,  where  he  found  his  teacher  engaged  "in 
an  animated  conversation  with  his  son. 

Maurits  had  already  apprised  the  pastor  of  the 
misfortune  that  had  befallen  his  mother,  and  the  noble 
pastor,  accompanied  by  Oscar,  had  twice  visited  the 
blind  woman  in  her  home  for  the  purpose  of  giving 
her  consolation  and  courage. 

"Listen  to  the  news,"  said  Maurits,  as  he  entered. 
"I  have  been  t'o  Odensvik,  where  I  have  engaged  my- 
self as  a  laborer.  What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"A  laborer!"  cried  the  pastor,  startled,  for  this  was 
the  first  intimation  he  had  received  that  Maurits  de- 
signed to  work.  "Are  you  going  to  work  as  a  common 
laborer?  My  boy,  that  must  not  be!" 


226  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"And  my  mother,  shall  she  starve?" 

"We  were  just  discussing  you,  Oscar  and  I,"  said 
the  pastor.  "Your  mother  can  no  longer  sew,  it  is 
true;  but  she  can  spin, and  that  right  well, with  a  little 
practice,  though  she  be  blind.  We  will  get  such  work 
for  her  and  besides  I  will  take  up  a  subscription  for 
her.  I  will  go  to  all  the  estates  hereabout  where  she 
has  done  work  and  collect  some  money  for  her.  The 
rich  will  willingly  give  a  little  to  their  poor  seamstress 
now  that  she  has  been  overtaken  by  such  a  calamity." 

"No,  no!"  cried  Maurits  earnestly.  "We  will  not 
live  by  alms.  It  would  pain  my  mother  and  me  deep- 
ly. I  will  work.  I  can  study  evenings  when  I  am  at 
leisure  and  so  retain  what  you  have  taught  me.  My 
mother  may  possibly  regain  her  sight.  Do  you  not 
think  so,  dear  pastor?" 

"Yes,  yes,  that  I  do  surely,  my  boy.  I  have  sent  to 
Carlstad  for  a  doctor.  One  of  my  maids  is  ill,  and 
when  he  has  prescribed  for  her,  I  will  have  him  go 
with  me  to  your  mother  and  examine  her  eyes.  He 
may  be  able  to  tell  us  what  would  best  be  done.  But 
are  you  firmly  resolved  to  take  day  work  at  Odensvik?" 

"Yes.     What    else  can  I    do?     We    will    not    accept 
alms,  short  of  the  utmost  need.      But  if  I  may    I  will 
come  here  evenings,  now  and  then,  and  read  to  you." 
'Yes,  my    boy,    come     when    you    will.      God    only 
knows,  though,  what  the  end  will  be." 
O,  something  will  turn  up  by  and  by." 

"Yes,  '  said  the  pastor,  "yo\i  are  right.  God  surely 
helps  those  who  make  an  hcnest  struggle." 

"Maurits,"  said  Oscar,  "in  Gothenburg,  there  is  a 
very  skillful  oculist  who  is  also  noted  for  his  good 
work  among  the  ptfor,  from  whom  he  never  accepts 
anything  for  his  services.  Next  spring  you  shall  take 


THE    BLIND    WOMAN    AND    HER    SON 

your  mocher  and  go  to  Gothenburg.  You  must  write 
me  first,  however,  and  I  will  provide  a  dwelling-place 
for  you,  and  also  take  you  to  the  doctor.  Think  how 
nice  it  would  be  if  I  could  show  you  the  great  city  of 
Gothenburg,  Maurits. " 

"A  splendid  thought,  my  dear  Oscar!  "  cried  Maurits 
joyfully.  "I'll  go  to  Gothenburg  with  my  mother  next 
summer.  O,if  that  doctor  could  only  restore  her  sight!" 

"Let  us  hope  for  the  best,  Maurits.  He  has  healed 
a  great  many.  But,  if  yo.u  can,  save  a  few  skill  ings 
every  week  from  your  wages  in  order  that  you  may 
have  sufficient  to  support  you  a  short  time  in  Gothen- 
burg if  necessary." 

"I  can  do  that,"  answered  Maurits,  who,  in  the 
newly  awakened  hope,  danced  for  joy. 

"I  must  off  at  once  and  tell  my  mother.  O  won't 
she  rejoice,  sitting  there,  as  she  is,  in  the  dark!  ' 

Bidding  the  pastor  and  Oscar  a  hasty  adieu,  Maurits 
hurried  homeward. 

When  the  project  was  imparted  to  Mrs.  Sterner, 
that  she  might  avoid  distressing  her  son  she  feigned 
a  lively  interest  in  it.  But  she  felt,  nevertheless,  a 
ceaseless  gnawing  within  that  threatened  to  deprive 
her  of  life  even  long  before  the  time  when  her  son 
hoped  to  escort  her  to  Gothenburg.  She  kept  her 
counsel,  however,  only  smiling  and  patting  him  upon 
the  cheek. 

Long  before  day,  the  following  morning,  Maurits 
made  his  appearance  at  Odensvik,  where  he  found  the 
laborers  already  in  the  barn,  "threshing  matins"  as  it 
is  termed,  and  requested  the  foreman  to  assign  him 
his  part  in  the  work.  This  man,  a  big  bully,  inflated 
by  his  selection  as  foreman,  and  a  despot  when  power 
gave  him  opportunity,  placed  his  arms  akimbo,  and 
stared  with  an  astonished  air  at  the  boy. 


228  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Who  in  the  name  of  Satan  sent  you  here?"  shouted 
he.  "Do  you  think  this  is  child's  work?  Be  off  with 
you!" 

"But  the  steward  has  promised  me  work,"  urged 
Maurits,  resolutely,  "and  I  am  going  to  thresh  whether 
you  will  or  no. " 

"The  steward  has  said  nothing  to  me  about  it,"  re- 
turned the  foreman,  "and  until  he  does,  you'll  get  no 
work  here. " 

"Then  I  must  wait,"  said  Maurits,  with  unruffled 
calmness,  taking  a  position  outside  the  door,  where  he 
could  make  note  of  how  the  others  worked.  It  was 
very  cold,  and  Maurits  was  soon  chilled  through,  but 
he  did  not  dare  go  inside,  fearing  the  angry  foreman, 
who  threatened  him  with  violence. 

At  last  the  steward  appeared,  making  his  morning 
round  to  see  that  the  laborers  were  doing  their  duty. 
Maurits  approached  him,  entered  his  complaint,  and 
begged  his  protection. 

"What  is  the  matter  here,  Anders  Peters!"  thun- 
dered the  steward.  "Are  you  not  going  to  allow  this 
boy  to  thresh  when  I  have  engaged  him?" 

"Didn't  know  you  had  engaged  him,"  said  the  now 
humble  foreman,  taking  off  his  cap  and  bowing  meek- 
ly. "Thought  the  boy  was  too  small  to  work." 

"He  is  strong  enough,"  said  the  steward.  "Take 
care  that  you  treat  him  well,  for  he  is  under  my  pro- 
tection. Get  in  there,  Maurits,  and  find  a  flail.  The 
foreman  will  give  you  a  place  among  the  others." 
And  whistling  an  aria  from  "The  Poachers,"  he  de- 
parted, while  Maurits  hastened  into  the  barn,  where 
he  was  soon  warmed  up  with  the  severe  exercise. 

Work  was  assured  him  through  the  steward's  "pro- 
tection," but  he  had  brought  upon  himself  the  hate  of 


THE    BLIND    WOMAN    AND    HER    SON  22Q 

the  foreman,  and  that  this  would  be  visited  upon  him, 
to  his  no  little  annoyance,  he  was  very  soon  made 
aware. 

Anders  lost  no  opportunity  to  find  fault  with  Mau- 
rits.  Now  he  threshed  too  fast,  now  too  slow,  and 
never  just  right.  The  ether  laborers,  imitating  their 
foreman's  example,  derided,  kicked  and  cuffed  the 
newcomer,  all  of  which  Maurits  endured  without  a 
murmur.  He  would  have  lost  courage  had  not  the 
thought  of  his  blind  mother  nerved  and  strengthened 
him  to  effort  and  submission. 

At  last  it  was  evening;  thoroughly  tired,  he  ceased 
work,  and,  as  the  laborers  repaired  to  their  cottages, 
Maurits  wended  his  way  wearily  homeward.  The 
sneers  and  abuse  to  which  he  had  been  subjected  had 
completely  disheartened  him,  and  quite  exhausted,  he 
sat  down  on  a  stone  by  the  roadside  to  rest.  The  air 
was  frosty,  but  he  was  insensible  to  it.  The  poor  boy 
began  to  weep  — weep  over  the  hard  lot  to  which  pov- 
erty had  reduced  him. 

"O,  my  God!  It  were  a  blessing  to  die,"  sobbed 
he.  "In  this  world  there  is  nothing  but  sorrow  and 
anguish." 

At  this  instant;  he  felt  a  heavy  hand  laid  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  heard  a  voice  inquire:  "Why  are  you 
crying,  my  poor  lad?" 

A  boyhood  recollection  was  awakened  in  his  soul. 
The  same  voice  had  put  the  same  question  some  years 
before  when  he  stood  weeping  over  his  scattered  sticks 
in  the  forest. 

He  looked  up,  and  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  well-known 
outlines  of  that  wild,  menacing  face  that  belonged  to 
the  ragged  beggar  who  had  related  to  him  his  life  his- 
tory at  the  murdered  man's  monument  by  the  road- 
side. 


230  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Jacob  Kron!"  exclaimed  Maurits  involuntarily. 

"You  recognize  me,  then,  Maurits  Sterner?"  said 
Jacob.  "You  have  not  forgotten  our  conversation  of 
four  years  ago?" 

"No.     I  shall  never  forget  it!" 

"And  have  you  found,  or,  more  correctly,  have  you 
begun  to  find  the  world  such  as  I  described  it?  Poor 
boy.  Your  attire,  your  tears,  all  tell  me  you  have." 

"Yes,  you  were  right,"  said  Maurits  gloomily. 
"There  is  a  fate — " 

"Against  which  we  must  struggle,"  interrupted 
Jacob,  "but  not  with  the  weapons  of  innocence  and 
piety,  for  they  are  snatched  from  our  hands  by  egoism ; 
but  with  those  of  strength,  of  action — crime,  as  man 
calls  it.  There  are  no  other  means." 

"No,  no,"  cried  Maurits.  "A  criminal  1  will  never 
be.  My  poor  blind  mother  would  die  of  sorrow." 

"Your  mother  has  become  blind?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  boy,  weeping. 

"And  how  do  you  maintain  yourself  now?" 

"I  work  for  day  wages  on  the  large  estate  over  there. 
I  get  twenty-four  skillings  a  day." 

"And  your  studies?" 

"I  am  compelled  to  lay  them  •  aside  until  later,  in 
order  to  procure  bread  for  my  mother  and  myself." 

The  red-head  raised  his  hands  toward  the  cold  win- 
ter heavens  in  an  expression  of  rage. 

"And  they  say  there  is  a  God  who  protects  the 
meek,  who  helps  those  who  struggle  honestly!  "  he 
broke  forth,  stamping  on  the  ground.  'Curses  upon 
this  world,  where  all  the  good,  all  that  is  most  beau- 
tiful, most  magnificent,  is  stifled  in  its  budding,  and 
only  the  fungi  of  vice  thrives,  nourished  by  wealth. 
Once  more,  curses  upon  her!" 


THE    BLIND    WOMAN    AND    HER    SON  23! 

"Do  you  recognize  this?" 

"Ha,  the  devil!"  Jacob  burst,  forth.  "My  mother's 
testament!  How  has  it  come  into  )-our  hands?" 

Maurits  related  the  occurrence  at  the  river,  and 
added  that  he  had  intended  to  return  the  trinket  if 
~he  had  known  the  owner's  name. 

"He  has  hung  this  trinket  around  his  daughter's 
neck,"  muttered  Jacob.  "The  trinket  that  lie  once 
gave  to  the  betrayed  wife,  and  which  he  later  stole 
from  her  and  her  son.  O,  this  is  terrible!  " 

"Have  you  seen  your  father  since  you  first  met?" 
asked  Maurits 

"Yes,  I  have  seen  him  once.  That  was  last  Christ- 
mas eve.  I  sought  him  to  prove  whether  or  not  time 
had  softened  his  ferocity.  1  went  to  him  ragged  and 
starving.  I  conjured  him;  I  fell  upon  my  knees  and 
begged  a  morsel  of  bread,  and  shelter  for  the  night; 
I  pleaded  with  a  voice  that  would  have  moved  a  tiger 
and  he  threw  me  downstairs  as  he  did  once  before. 
He  was  the  same,  and  my  determination  to  be  re- 
venged was  strengthened  thereby. 

"Yes,"  continued  he,  muttering  between  his  teeth, 
"yes,  I  will  be  revenged;  but  the  opportunity  is  not 
yet  ripe. " 

"What  then  is  your  father?  What  is  his  name,  and 
where  does  he  live?" 

"Maurits,"  answered  Jacob,  "circumstances  may 
perhaps,  at  some  time  in  the  future,  bring  you  togeth- 
er with  the  family  that  showed  you  such  infinite  in- 
gratitude. It  may  be  that  this  meeting  will  occur 
sooner  than  you  suppose.  Until  then,  retain  this  am- 
ber heart,  and  guard  it  well.  If  I  were  to  tell  you  my 
father's  name,  you  would  at  once  look  him  up  and 
return  it.  That  I  would  not  have,  therefore  you  shall 
not  know. " 


232  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Ah,  why  not?" 

"Because  you  may  sometime  become  an  instrument 
of  my  revenge,  and  that  trinket  may  be  the  talisman 
that  shall  open  the  way.  Accident  may  bring  you,  in 
a  few  years,  perhaps,  together  with  that  hated  family. 
My  family,  ha,  ha!  And  then  you  will  think  of  the 
outcast  son  who  goes  hungry  to  his  rest,  while  his 
brother  and  sister  live  in  luxury.  Retain  it,  there- 
fore, for  it  is  in  better  keeping  with  you  than  with 
me." 

"Your  disposition  is  bitterer,  your  hate  more  intense 
now  than  when  I  last  saw  you,"  observed  Maurits. 

"Yes,  for  I  have  suffered  an  additional    four  years." 

"And  how  have  you  lived  during  these  four  years?" 

"If  you  will  know,  follow  me,"  said  Jacob,  seizing 
Maurits'  hand. 

With  an  instinctive  feeling  of  horror,  the  lad  drew 
back.  He  thought  of  his  mother,  and  answered: 

"No,  I  will  not  go  with  you.  I  will  go  my  own 
way,  however  rough  and  calam'itous  it  maybe." 

"Well,  go  then  till  you  tire,"  answered  Jacob.  "We 
will  meet  yet  once  more.  Farewell." 

Jacob  strode  away,  and,  filled  with  strange  thoughts, 
Maurits  continued  his  homeward  course. 

The  blind  woman  sat  and  spun  in  the  dark.  Thus 
she  now  employed  herself  to  shorten  her  lonesome 
hours  while  she  must  be  alone. 

"Is  that  you,  Maurits?"  she  inquired,  as  he  entered. 

"Yes,  mamma,"  answered  he  with  forced  gayety. 
"Here  I  am,  and  I  have  done  a  big  day's  work,  I 
assure  you." 

"My  poor  Maurits!''  sighed  the  mother.  "You  must 
be  very  tired. " 

"O,  no.     I'll  light  the  candle  now,  and  read  to  you 


THE    BLIND    WOMAN    AND    HER    SON  233 

the  whole  evening  while  you  spin,  mamma.  It  will 
be  a  recreation  after  the  day's  toil." 

The  candle  was  soon  lighted,  and  taking  down  a 
book,  Maurits  read  diligently  several  hours  without 
ceasing. 

"Thus  matters  will  go  nicely,  mother,"  said  Maurits 
finally,  closing  his  book  "I  shall  be  able,  in  this 
manner,  to  retain  what  I  have  learned,  and  in  the 
spring  we  can  go  to  Gothenburg,  where  you  shall  have 
your  sight  restored.  You  can  then  support  us  as  in 
the  past,  with  your  needle,  and  1  may  again  resume 
my  studies.  You  shall  see  that  everything  will  go 
along  smoothly." 

"God  grant  it,  my  dear!"  returned  Mrs.  Sterner, 
'but  I  have  now  become  a  burden  to  you,  Maurits." 

"Don't  talk  so!"  cried  the  boy  earnestly.  'Have  you 
not  sacrificed  your  sight  and  strength  on  my  account? 
Have  you  not  labored  and  suffered  for  me?  And  is  it 
not  due  from  me  that  I  repay  you  for  all  this?" 

"Maurits,"  said  Mrs.  Sterner,  "I  have  sat  in  judg- 
ment en  myself  to  day,  and  have  concluded  it  may  be 
only  foolish  pride  that  has  swayed  me,  and  that  I  am, 
probably,  wronging  you  by  allowing  you  to  labor 
among  the  servants  at  Odensvik  in  order  to  avoid  liv- 
ing upon  the  charity  of  others  The  good  Pastor 
Bergholm  has  offered  to  take  up  a  subscription  for  us, 
if  we  will  permit  it.  We  have  both  declined  his  kind 
offer;  but  may- we  not  have  done  wrong  in  so  doing?" 

"No,  no!"  remonstrated  Maurits  warmly.  'Let  me 
continue  my  work,  at  least  for  the  winter.  Let  that 
be  a  last  resort.  It  is  no  disgrace  to  support  one's 
self  with  honest  work.  Why,  then,  should  I  not  work 
as  well  as  so  many  other  poor  people?1' 

"But,"  resumed  Mrs.  Sterner. 


234  THE    PLAY    OF    FATK 

"No  'but'  about  it,  my  dear  mother."  interrupted 
Maurits  earnestly.  "You  must  allow  me  to  decide  in 
this  matter.  I  love  my  books  dearly,  but  I  love  you 
more  than  all  else,  and  you  shall  not '  be  driven  to 
live  by  alms  so  long  as  I  have  strength  with  which  to 
earn  our  bread. " 

Here  the  subject  was  allowed  to  rest.  Mrs.  Sterner 
raised  no  further  objections,  especially  as  she  saw 
that  it  ga've  her  boy  pleasure  to  work  for  her. 

Days  and  weeks  sped  by.  The  neighboring  gentry 
sent  the  blind  seamstress  an  abundance  of  flax  to  spin, 
-and  soon  the  daily  practice  had  made  her  quite  as 
skillful  as  if  she  had  her  sight. 

Maurits  continued  his  heavy  and  toilsome  work  at 
Odensvik.  More  accustomed  to  the  employment,  and 
gaining  bodily  strength  by  degrees,  this  work  became 
much  lighter  than  at  the  beginning,  especially  as  the 
foreman  and  laborers  finally  ceased  to  annoy  him  when 
they  observed  that  he  did  not  resent  their  affronts, 
but  endured  everything  patiently.  His  patience  dis- 
armed them,  and,  besides,  they  feared  the  all-powerful 
steward,  in  whose  favor  Maurits  was  growing  daily. 

Maurits'  meager  wages,  together  with  the  few  skill- 
ings  earned  by  Mrs.  Sterner  with  her  distaff,  were 
sufficient  for  their  support  through  the  winter  months, 
leaving  a  small  sum  each  week  toward  the  contem- 
plated journey  to  Gothenburg. 

Every  evening,  after  returning  from  Odensvik, 
Maurits  busied  himself  for  several  hours  with  his 
studies,  while  his  mother's  spinning  wheel  hummed. 
Once  and  again  he  grasped  his  pen,  for  already  he 
felt  within  himself  a  multitude  of  struggling  thoughts, 
to  which  he  was  sometimes  irresistibly  impelled  to 
give  form  on  paper.  Fancy  often  carried  him  into 


THE    BLIND    WOMAN    AND    HER    SON  235 

infinite  space,  and  to  such  distances  that  his  thoughts 
staggered  him — into  the  realms  where  reason  quit  the 
helm  and  inspiration  took  him  in  its  resistless  flight. 

Every  genius  — and  that  Maurits  was  a  genius  will 
be  demonstrated  further  on — has  a  like  period  of  con- 
fused ideas,  of  a  chaos,  if  we  may  employ  the  term. 
A  period  when  before  the  full  day  of  thought  their 
images  are  imperfect,  mystical,  indistinct,  often 
wholly  without  form,  yet  revealing  to  the  observer, 
through  their  wild  beauty,  that  he  whose  prod- 
ucts they  are,  will  one  day  dazzle  the  world  with 
creations  of  actual  symmetry  and  perfection. 

h«  this  boy's  mind,  early  ripened  by  privations  and 
suffering,  there  were  struggling,  during  those  winter 
months,  many  conflicting  thoughts.  But  these  battles 
of  the  spirit  he  concealed  securely  in  his  breast,  for 
an  intuitive  feeling  told  him  that  to  his  dearly  loved 
mother  they  would  give  only  anxiety  and  trouble  if 
she  were  made  his  confidant, 

The  demon  of  doubt  had  taken  hold  of  him,  and 
however  he  strove  to  cast  it  off,it  unfailingly  returned, 
looking  with  evil  eye  into  his  young  heart. 

A  childish  mind,  pliable  as  wax,  such  was  his  when 
we  first  introduced  him  to  the  reader.  Poverty  and 
want  would  not  have  been  sufficient  to  harden  his 
heart;  to  change  a  pure,  childish  piety  to  gloom,  cor- 
roding doubt;  to  choke  the  promising  seed  of  a 
boundless  love  that  slumbered  within  him  and  allow 
instead  the  thorns  of  bitterness  and  hate  to  take  root. 
But  the  misfortunes  and  injustice  to  which  he  had 
been  subjected;  the  poison  instilled  into  his  soul  by 
the  terrible  paradoxes  of  the  outcast  son,  Jacob  Kron, 
augmented  by  the  cruelty  and  scorn  heaped  upon  him 
and  the  exceeding  ingratitude  manifested  by  the  family 


236  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

with  which  accident  had  thrice  brought  him  in  contact 
—  once  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life  to  save  that  of  one 
of  its  members — had  done  their  work;  had  given  rise 
in  his  breast  to  that  mistrust  of  the  world  and  man- 
kind; a  doubt  about  a  loving,  omnipresent  providence 
that  we  have  already  seen  cropping  out  on  several  oc- 
casions, accompanying  an  outburst  of  passion. 

Ah,  how  often  we  build  our  conceptions,  especially 
while  we  are  young,  upon  an  isolated  incident,  and  it 
seems  many  times  to  be  an  accident  that  determines 
the  whole  career  of  mankind  for  good  or  evil.  The 
fatalistic  theories  possess  a  deep  significance  in  actual 
life  where  so  many  noble  characters,  disposed  to  virtue 
and  Christian  love,  are  stifled  by  lack  of  nourishment, 
by  means  of  seductions  and  injustices. 

Maurits  battled  courageously,  nevertheless,  against 
these  gloomy  views  of  life.  Love  for  his  mother,  so 
angelically  resigned  to  her  suffering,  remained  always 
as  a  star  in  his  foggy  heavens,  and  before  this  star  the 
clouds  usually  vanished.  It  needed  but  a  little  ray 
of  good  fortune  at  any  time  to  chase  them  away,  and 
restore  to  his  heart  a  childlike  meekness  and  tranquil- 
lity. 

He  had  always  hoped,  still  hoped,  that  good  fortune 
would  one  day  be  his.  Thought  he:  "In  a  few  years, 
having  victoriously  struggled  through  many  difficulties 
and  pains,  I  shall  become  famous.  My  mother  will 
not  have  to  live  in  a  miserable  hut,  then.  She  shall 
reside  with  me,  her  son,  and  her  old  age  shall  be 
sweetened  by  his  love,  as  she  sweetened  his  child- 
hood, and  then  everything  will.be  good.  I  shall  get 
out  of  the  dark  in  which  I  have  been  wandering,  into 
the  light  of  truth  and  faith  in  God,  into  a  love  for  my 
fellow  man,  and  be  at  peace  with  the  world." 


THE    BLIND    WOiMAN    AND    HER    SON  237 

Such  was  the  boy's  hope,  and  though  it  was  dimmed 
with  tears  at  the  time  the  light  in  his  mother's  eyes 
gave  out,  it  was  not  yet  wholly  dead.  It  returned 
often  as  a  glittering  mirage  during  the  youth's  brighter 
moments;  it  was  hidden  in  the  background  even  while 
the  darkest  doubt  battled  within.  And  in  his  dreams 
was  present,  not  seldom,  a  bright  form  that  waved 
above  him  the  white  lily  of  peace. 

And  so  passed  the  winter.  Maurits  had  added  at 
least  two  years  to  his  age  during  that  time.  Spiritual 
struggles  fast  ripen  the  child  to  youth,  and  youth  to 
manhood,  and  if  these  struggles  are  attended  with,  or 
are  incident  to  bodily  suffering,  this  is  revealed  in 
a  higher  degree. 

Spring  was  approaching.  The  snow  was  melted  away 
and  the  song  of  the  lark  was  again  heard  in  the  neigh- 
boring meadow.  Maurits,  whose  hours  at  Odensvik 
were  never  longer  than  from  six  in  the  morning  until 
four  in  the  afternoon,  returned  to  his  mother  one  beau- 
tiful sunny  April  day,  with  the  first  spring  blossom  in 
his  hand,  and,  presenting  it  ";o  her,  cried  in  a  voice  of 
more  cheerfulness  and  good  feeling  than  he  had  shown 
for  a  long  time : 

"Mamma,  it  is  again  spring.  Come  out  and  feel 
how  gloriously  the  sun  shines.  In  a  few  weeks,  we 
will  set  out  for  Gothenburg,  and  you  shall  have  your 
sight  again,  and  once  more  see  the  flowers  and  birds, 
and  rejoice  at  summer's  splendor." 

The  blind  mother  smiled,  and  pleased  to  see  her 
son's  exhilaration,  took  his  arm,  and  with  unsteady 
gait,  accompanied  him  to  enjoy  the  young  spring,  and 
allow  the  fresh  breezes  to  fan  her  fevered  cheeks. 


CHAPTER  III 

A     CONSPIRACY 

We  must  return  to  Odensvik  to  describe  a  scene  that 
was  there  presented  one  beautiful  day  in  early  spring, 
and  in  the  same  year  with  the  occurrences  of  the  fcre- 
going  chapter. 

Count  Eberhard  was  absent  on  a  visit  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. The  beautiful  Angela,  his  Hesperian  mis- 
tress, sat,  robed  in  a  lovely  morning  gown,  upon  a 
richly  silk  upholstered  divan  in  her  boudoir,  her  fin- 
gers mechanically  wandering  over  the  strings  of  her 
harp,  standing  at  her  side. 

A  knock  was  heard  upon  her  door. 

"Well,  at  last!  "  muttered  the  cantatrice  to  herself. 
"Come  in,"  added  she  aloud. 

The  door  opened,  and  M.  Crispin,  the  count's 
French  friend,  entered  the  apartment. 

"You  have  allowed  me  to  wait  so  long,"  said  Angela 
sulkily.  "It  is  nearly  two  hours  since  the  count  rode 
away,  and  we  have  lost  precious  time  that  might  have 
been  employed  in  perfecting  our  plans." 

"I  thought  you  were  not  dressed,  beautiful  Angela," 
said  Crispin,  seating  himself  at  her  side  and  taking 
her  hand.  "The  count,  at  an)'  rate,  will  not  return 
before  noon,  and  we  have  yet  three  hours  until  then. 
We  can,  therefore,  converse  undisturbed." 

"Hear  me,  Crispin,"  said  Angela,  after  a  short  si- 
lence; "when  you  persuaded  me  to  undertake  the  en- 

238 


A    CONSPIRACY  239 

thrallment  of  Eberhard's  heart,  and  follow  him  to  this 
distant  land,  you  held  out  to  me  the  most  alluring 
inducements.  True,  to  a  certain  extent  the)' have  been 
realized,  for  the  count  has  been  remarkably  generous 
with  me;  but  what  I  foresaw  has  taken  place.  I  have 
tired  of  this  secluded  life;  I  long  to  return  to  my 
beautiful  fatherland.  I  shall  freeze;  I  shall  perish  of 
cold  if  I  dwell  here  longer.  You  must,  therefore,  ful- 
fill your  promise  and  take  me  hence,  for  Eberhard 
would  rather  kill  me  than  voluntarily  allow  me  to 
leave  him. " 

"Good!  good!"  cried  Crispin,  rubbing  his  hands 
with  delight.  "You  have  worked  out  my  revenge  to 
the  utmost,  Angela.  When  I  rescued  you  from  the 
gypsies  with  whom  you  were  strolling  around  in  my 
fatherland,  and  procured  for  you  an  engagement  in 
the  theater  Milano,  I  had  little  thought  that  at  some 
future  time  you  would  be  of  such  inestimable  value  to 
me.  I  felt,  at  the  most,  that  I  was  rearing  a  charm- 
ing mistress  as  a  means  of  satisfying  my  desires;  but 
you  have  not  alone  been  all  that;  you  have  even  served 
as  an  instrument  of  my  revenge,  and  that  is  more." 
"You  hate  that  man  so  immeasurably?" 
"You  know,  Angela,  what  I  suffered  in  my  youth 
because  of  his  mother's  fickleness;  a  fickleness  with- 
out example,  for  I  had,  at  the  risk  of  my  own,  saved 
her  life  and  that  of  her  father,  and  for  it  she  had  sworn 
me  eternal  fidelity.  She  deceived  me.  Then  I  vowed 
on  my  part  to  pursue  her  and  her  family  with  an  un- 
relenting revenge.  Death  has  snatched  her  and  her 
husband  away  from  my  hate;  only  the  son  remains, 
and  he  shall  be  made  to  pay  in  rich  measure  for  his 
mother's  crime.  I  rejoice,  therefore,  that  you  have 
ensnared  him  helplessly  in  your  meshes,  Angela." 


THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

The  young  songstress  contemplated  the  Frenchman 
with  a  look  that  expressed  at  the  same  time  admira- 
tion and  horror.  He  was,  at  that  instant,  dazzlingly 
handsome,  while  his  dark  features  were  lighted  by 
satisfaction  at  the  triumph  of  his  schemes. 

Suddenly  Angela  sprang  to  her  feet,  wound  her 
white  arms  around  his  neck,  pressed  him  to  her  soft 
breast,  and  cried: 

"You  are  an  ideal  man,  Crispin.  You  can  love,  ad- 
mire, and  hate  at  the  same  time.  I  adore  you!" 

Crispin  laughed  as  Satan  laughs  when  he  has  caught 
another  victim;  but  he  pushed  the  fiery  woman  from 
him  and  continued: 

"The  time  will  come,  Angela,  when  we  may  live 
wholly  for  each  other.  We  will  leave  this  country 
together  after  we  have  wrecked  Eberhard.  Yes,"  he 
continued,  with  an  ironical  smile,  "he  regards  me  as 
his  friend,  and  you  he  worships  as  his  mistress.  He 
shall  suddenly  waken  from  that  dream,  and  we  shall 
have  gone  with  his  treasure,  which  he  has  lavished 
unstintingly  upon  us.  You  have  received  costly  pres- 
ents, Angela?' 

"Yes,"  answered  the  woman  smiling,  "I  have  sold 
my  favors  at  good  prices.  He  has  been  generous  to 
me  with  articles  of  jewelry  and  other  precious  things. " 

"And  he  is  infatuated  with  you  yet?" 

"More  than  ever.  It  is  as  if  I  had  given  him  an 
intoxicating  love  potion.  Yesterday  evening,  for  ex- 
ample, when  I  spoke  of  severing  my  connection  with 
him,  and  returning  to  Italy,  he  threw  himself  upon  his 
knees  before  me,  and  importuned  me  to  rather  take 
his  life,  for  he  could  not  survive  such  a  day.  Do  you 
believe  he  will  commit  suicide  if  we  desert  him?" 

"I  do  not  think  so,  he  is  too  faint-hearted  to  do  such 


A    CONSPIRACY  24! 

a  thing.  But  he  will  rave,  he  will  despair,  he  will 
throw  himself  into  the  depths  of  extravagances  and 
lusts  from  which,  enfeebled  in  both  body  and  soul,  his 
faith  gone,  with  nothing  on  which  to  build,  hope  scat- 
tered to  the  winds,  death  will  snatch  him." 

"Your  revenge  is  exquisite,  Crispin,"  said  Angela  in 
admiration.  "I  should  not  like  to  bring  your  hate  upon 
myself,  It  were  better  to  die  at  once." 

At  these  words,  Crispin  cast  a  glance  at  the  song- 
stress so  ironical,  so  devilish,  that,  without  knowing 
wherefore,  she  felt  herself  chilled  to  the  marrow  with 
terror. 

"My  God!  You  regard  me  sometimes  with  such  a 
fearful  look,"  cried  she,  "that  one  could  actually  be- 
lieve that  I  am  the  object  of  your  hate  instead  of  your 
love.  Do  you  love  me  no  longer?" 

"Love  you!"  exclaimed  the  Frenchman,  twining 
his  arms  around  her  waist,  and  resting  his  head  upon 
her  half-naked  breast.  "Yes,  Angela,  I  love  you  as  a 
creation  of  my  own  fancies,  vehement,  playful,  sing- 
ing, giddy,  frivolous;  I  love  you  with  all  your  vices, 
because  it  is  I  who  have  made  you  what  you  are;  be- 
cause you  stand  as  a  beautiful  expression  of  my  own 
fiery  soul.  Therefore  I  love  you,  and  shall  always  love 
you,  Angela.  Therefore  I  rule  you,  even  you,  whose 
flames  are  as  scorching,  as  destructive  as  Africa's 
desert  winds." 

"You  devil!"  Angela  burst  forth,  lifting  the  French- 
man's head,  and  pressing  her  swelling  lips  to  his. 
"To  have  won  ypur  love,  that  is  something — but  now, 
let  us  return  to  our  common  affairs." 

"Yes,"  assented  Crispin.  "My  plan  is  as  follows: 
In  a  few  weeks,  the  count  intends  to  arrange  for  a 
great  hunt.  Before  we  ride 'out  in  the  morning — for 


242  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

we  are  to  hunt  on  horseback — gather  up  all  your  trink- 
ets and  ready  money,  and  take  them  with  you  to  the 
forest.  The  rest  of  your  possessions,  your  clothes, 
your  harp,  etc.,  etc., are  of  little  consequence,  if  they 
must,  of  necessity,  be  left  behind.  The  count  should 
have  some  memento  of  his  mistress  left  him,"  he  added 
with  a  smile  of  irony.  "'Besides,  he  watches  you  with 
a  jealous  devotion  that  makes  it  impossible  to  flee 
withiout  the  greatest  caution.  When  the  company  be- 
comes scattered,  as  it  will  in  time,  we  must  avail  our- 
selves of  the  opportunity,  and  make  our  escape  when 
the  count's  attention  is  attracted  to  other  things.  At 
one  of  the  cities  on  the  Wener,  we  must  procure  ap- 
propriate clothes.  You  must  dress  in  man's  attire,  and 
attend  me  as  a  servant.  Thence  we  will  make  our  way  to 
Gothenburg,  and  therefrom  sail  for  France,  where  we 
will  locate  for  a  time  in  my  native  province.  What  do 
you  say  to  it? " 

"Excellent!"  exclaimed  Angela.  "If  only  everything 
goes  well.  But  what  if  he  pursues  and  overtakes  us?" 

"That  will  be  impossible,  as  we  shall  take  the  fleet- 
est horses  to  be  found  in  his  stables,  and  furthermore, 
he  has  no  legal  claim  upon  us.  The  horses  we  can 
send  back  to  him,  and  with  them  a  letter  in  which  I 
shall  inform  him  of  the  character  of  the.  friendship 
and  love  we  have  entertained  for  him.  In  that  letter 
I  will  also  relate  a  history  to  him,  the  history  of  his 
mother." 

"You  are  dreadful,  Crispin,"  cried  Angela.  "Your 
craft,  your  genius,  are  devilish." 

"And  you  are  an  angel,  Angela,"  added  the  French- 
man. "Do  you  remember  the  first  time  I  saw  you? 
It  was  in  Toulouse,  where  I  resided  one  winter.  A 
band  of  gypsies  strolling  through  the  city  passed  my 


A    CONSPIRACY  243 

window.  Among  those  wild,  swarthy  forms,  I  dis- 
cerned a  little  girl  of  rare  beauty.  You  were  in  the 
lead  of  the  band  with  a  cithera  in  your  hands,  and 
you  sang,  sang  with  a  sweetness  that  attracted  my 
attention.  I  bought  you  from  the  gypsies,  and  reared 
you  for  my  own  pleasure,  opening  to  you,  ultimately, 
a  brilliant  career  in  which,  with  your  beauty  and  tal- 
ents, you  dazzled  the  public.  In  gratitude  for  this 
care,  you  pledged  me  a  love  that  only  death  should 
end." 

"I  remember  it  well,"  said  Angela,  a  cloud  disfigur- 
ing her  forehead.  "I  am  a  child  of  accident.  Upon 
no  mother's  breast  have  I  ever  rested,  and  all  search 
after  my  parents  has  been  fruitless.  On  my  shoulder 
I  bear  a  mark  which  seems  to  have  been  seared  there 
in  my  earliest  childhood.  It  represents  a  rose,  around 
whose  stem  winds  a  serpent.  Can  one  conceive  any- 
thing more  hideous!  O,  if  I  could  but  know  what 
significance  the  object  possesses!  Perhaps  as  a  child 
I  have  already  been  consecrated  to  the  powers  of  evil. 
See  here!"  And  the  beautiful  woman  bared  her  shoul- 
der, displaying  the  mark,  the  figure  of  a  blood-red 
rose,  encircled  by  a  black  serpent. 

"I  know,  I  know,  Angela,"  said  Crispin,  casting  an 
indifferent  look  at  her  arm.  "It  is  as  you  say,  a  hor- 
rid tattooing  whose  significance  is  not  easy  to  guess. 
Perhaps  the  future  will  throw  some  light  upon  it." 

"Well,  possibly,  but  I  hardly  believe  it,"  said  An- 
gela, resting  her  head  thoughtfully  in  her  hands.  But 
now,  Crispin,  it  is  time  for  us  to  separate.  The  count 
must  not  surprise  us.  We  understand  each  other,  and 
in  a  few  weeks  we  quit  Sweden  together." 

"Yes,   never  to  see  it  again." 

"Your  hand  on  that,"  and  the  two  friends  shook 
hands. 


244  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"France  and  Italy  conspire,"  observed  Angela  laugh- 
ing. "Sweden  the  unconscious  victim." 

"So  be  it.      Farewell!" 

He  departed,  and  Angela's  harp  was  uttering  sweet 
melody  when  Eberhard,  a  lew  minutes  later,  entered 
the  boudoir. 

"Where  have  you  been,  Eberhard?"  said  Angela, 
as  the  count  seated  himself  at  her  side. 

"At  Liljedahl.  Can  you  imagine  anything  more  ri- 
diculous? They  have  there  planned  a  marriage  for 
me." 

"Marriage!      And  with  whom?  ' 

"With  the  daughter  of  the  house." 

"Is  there  a  marriageable  daughter  in  the  family?" 

"No,  she  is  yet  but  nine  years  old;  but  Baron  Ehren- 
stam  feels  that  I  can  very  well  wait  till  she  becomes 
'a  prendre, '  and  how  well  he  knew  my  mind  in  this. 
I  marry!  Ha,  ha,  ha!" 

"You  declined  the  honor,  of  course." 

"No,  the  devil!"  answered  the  count.  "I  would  not 
displease  him  unnecessarily.  I  premised  him  to  con- 
sider the  matter,  and,  meantime,  not  to  bind  myself  to 
another.  Such  a  promise  will  not  be  very  difficult  to 
keep." 

"The  girl  will  one  day  be  very  rich?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  count,  "she  will  certainly  receive  a 
handsome  dower;  but  what  care  I  for  that?  I  have  an 
abundance,  and,  so  long  as  you  remain  with  me,  beau- 
tiful Angela,  I  can  desire  nothing  better.  You  are  the 
only  one  I  would  marry,  but  you  will  not  listen  to  it. 
You  love  your  liberty  too  much." 

"Yes,"  said  Angela,  "I'll  never  marry.  You  should 
remember  that  I  am  wedded  to  my  art,  and  that  the 
people  of  Milan  demand  that  I  return  to  them." 


A    CONSPIRACY  245 

"Then  I'll  accompany  you,  Angela,"  exclaimed  the 
count  passionately,  "if  it  were  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth.  I'll  never  abandon  you." 

And  he  pressed  her  rapturously  to  his  breast.  But 
she  struggled  loose,  laughed,  and  said: 

"You'll  hug  me  to  death,  Eberhard.  Farewell!  I 
must  go  and  dress  myself.  We  are  to  drive  this  after- 
noon. " 

Nimbly  as  a  fawn,  she  disappeared  through  the  door 
to  her  bed-chamber,  locking  it  behind  her. 

"Heavens,  what  a  woman!"  burst  forth  the  count, 
springing  up  and  rushing  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER   IV 

A  BUILDING  PROJECT 

Baron  Ehrenstam  of  Liljedahl  had  by  no  means  for- 
gotten his  anger  at  the  poor  boy  who  saved  Isabella's 
life,  and  who,  with    such    impudence,  the    baron  felt 
declined  the  reward   he  would  have  given  him. 

The  baron  was  one  of  those  mean  souls  that  try  to 
obliterate  all  traces  of  an  injustice  done  by  the  per- 
petration of  a  still  greater.  He  experienced  not  the 
slightest  contrition  at  the  manner  of  his  dealing  with 
the  boy,  and,  though  he  felt  a  chagrin  that  sorely  pun- 
ished him  at  times,  this  only  augmented  his  rage 
against  the  innocent  object  thereof, 

He  had  informed  himself  concerning  the  boy,  and 
it  exasperated  him  to  know  that  he  dwelt  in  his  vicin- 
ity. He  would  not  have  so  near  him  a  creature  in 
whose  presence  he  must,  in  very  shame,  bow  his  head 
if  chance  should  in  some  manner  bring  them  together. 
Wherefore,  he  had  long  sought  some  means  whereby 
he  might  persuade  the  count  to  give  the  widow  and 
her  son  notice  to  quit  the  wretched  hut  occupied  by 
them. 

He  had  given  his  wife  and  son  strict  injunctions  not 
to  speak  to  Isabella,  under  any  circumstances,  about 
the  occurrence,  anxious  that  neither  Maurfts  nor  any 
other  should  know  it  was  his  daughter's  life  the  young 
boy  had  saved;  that  he  had  been  so  ungrateful  as  to 
allow  the  rescuer  to  go  without  giving  him  the  least 

246 


A    BUILDING    PROJECT  247 

recognition  of  his  indebtedness.  If  the  story  became 
known,  it  would  brand  him  in  public  opinion,  he  knew, 
and  the  baron  was  one  who  entertained  a  profound 
respect  for  the  opinion  of  his  fellow  man,  and  greatly 
feared  defamation. 

It  would  have  been  possible,  of  course,  for  him  to 
have  proffered  aid  to  the  poor  widow  and  her  son,  and 
by  kindness  to  have  undone  his  previous  injustice 
and  softened  his  unguarded  utterances,  but  he  was  too 
proud  for  this.  There  was,  therefore,  no  other  recourse 
than  to  completely  crush  the  unfortunate  family,  and 
hunt  away  such  troublesome  witnesses  to  his  cold  and 
cruel  egoism.  But  how?  That  was  the  question. 

One  baautiful  spring  morning,  the  baron  and  count 
rode  out  in  company,  their  purpose  a  visit  to  one  of 
their  neighbors.  Their  route  took  them  to  the  near 
vicinity  of  the  abode  of  Mrs.  Sterner  and  her  son. 

The  little  hut  was  very  prettily  located,  surrounded 
on  all  sides  by  green  shade-trees  that  now,  just  in 
bud,  made  a  very  inviting  scene,  in  striking  contrast 
with  the  hut  itself. 

The  baron  drew  up,  pointed  to  the  place  with  his 
riding-whip,  and  addressed  his  companion: 

"What  do  you  think  of  that  hut,  Count  Stjerne- 
krantz? " 

"It  is  beautifully  situated,"  answered  the  count. 
"It  is  one  of  mine,  I  believe." 

"Yes,  and  were  I  the  owner  of  Odensvik,  I  know 
what  I  should  do  with  it." 

"What,   then?" 

"I'd  tear  it  down  and  build  in  its  stead  a  delightful 
pleasure  resort,  an  Italian  villa,  a  little  Tuscany,  far 
up  in  the  north.  I  would  then  present  it  to  my  mis- 
tress for  a  residence." 


248  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"  Curpo  di  Baccho!"  cried  the  count  approvingly. 
"That  is  a  capital  idea.  I'll  adopt  it  entire.  Charm- 
ing! I'll  build  it  in  the  same  style  as  the  Italian 
villas  in  the  suburbs  of  Tivoli,  Naples,  or  Rome,  of 
which  I  have  sketches." 

"And  your  beautiful  Italian,"  added  the  baron,  "will 
think  herself  back  in  her  fatherland.  You  can,  more- 
over, have  a  conservator)-  in  connection,  filled  with 
southern  plants,  and  the  illusion  will  be  more  com- 
plete. Good  luck 'to  you,  Eberhard.  I  hope  you  will 
invite  me  to  dine  with  you,  and  to  listen  to  your  harp- 
ist in  the  new  Tuscola  when  it  is  completed." 

"It  shall  be  done,"  cried  the  count.  "As  soon  as  I 
return  home,  I'll  instruct  the  steward  to  have  the 
dwellers  in  the  hut  moved,  and  the  work  shall  begin 
immediately.  It  will  be  an  agreeable  diversion  for  me 
during  the  summer,  and  in  the  villa  I  will  collect  all 
my  precious  works  of  art,  and  specimens  brought 
home  from  my  travels.  I'll  have  a  regular  little  mu- 
seum, you  shall  see — a  temple  of  elegance,  of  pleasure, 
and  of  art. " 

"And  love,"  added  the  baron. 

"Certainly;  but  you  must  not  believe  that  it  is  only 
an  overpowering  lust  that  attaches  me  to  Angela.  No, 
that  woman  possesses  genius,  talents — possesses  not 
alone  a  surpassing  beaut)'  of  form  and  feature,  but  of 
spirit  also.  O,  she  will  be  a  superb  priestess  of  that 
temple. " 

"You  are  right.      Let  us  ride  on." 

"No,"  said  the  count,  "let  us  rather  pause  here,  and 
inspect  the  ground.  I  am  thirsty.  Perhaps  the  dwell- 
ers in  the  hut  can  give  me  a  glass  of  water." 

"Go,"  said  the  baron,  who  had  no  desire  to  be  seen 
and  recognized  by  Maurits,  "go  on.  I'll  wait  your 
return,  but  do  not  remain  too  long." 


A    BUILDING    PROJECT  249 

The  count  rode  away,  and  Baron  Ehrenstam  saw 
him  dismount  at  the  hut,  and  disappear  through  the 
low  door. 

Eberhard  remained  a  long  time  within,  longer  than 
the  baron  could  have  supposed  possible,  and  when  he 
finally  returned  to  his  companion's  side,  he  was  silent 
and  thoughtful. 

"•Well,"  said  the  baron,  "what  did  you  find  in  the 
hul?" 

"Strange!"  muttered  the  count,  without  answering 
the  question;  "what  a  wonderful  likeness!" 

"What  did  you  find?"  repeated  the  baron  impa- 
tiently. 

"I  found — a  boy — "  said  the  count    thoughtfully. 

"So  ho!      Nothing  more?" 

"Yes,  a  woman  spinning  flax,  though  blind.  Who 
is  this  woman?  She  is  no  commonplace  peasant,  and 
her  son  is — " 

The  count  paused,  interrupting  himself. 

"And  why  should  she  not  be  an  ordinary  peasant?" 
inquired  the  baron,  who  would  not  betray  the  least 
knowledge  about  the  poor  family. 

"Why?  Because  her  appearance  betokens  a  person 
of  education;  because  different  things  in  her  miserable 
abode  give  evidence  of  former  better  circumstances." 

"What  is  her  name?"  interrupted  the  baron. 

"I  do  not  know,  I  did  not  ask.  The  boy,  her  son,  a 
fifteen-year-old  lad,  sat  reading  Tacitus.  He  informed 
me  that  he  works  on  my  estate  for  day  wages,  which 
are  paid  him  by  the  steward.  He  has,  besides,  received 
instruction  from  the  poor  pastor  of  the  parish,  he  said, 
— a  good-natured,  learned, and  somewhat  droll  customer, 
I  believe." 

The  count  sank  again  into  deep  thought. 


250  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

He  turned  suddenly,  as  if  awakened   from  a  dream. 

"What  a  likeness!"  muttered  he.  "His  face,  his 
form.  It  is  remarkable!  And  that  ring,  with  its 
blue  stone.  I  have  seen  it  before,  I  have  played  with 
it  in  my  childhood.  Can  it  be  possible?  Can  rny 
father — "  the  count  checked  himself  abruptly,  observ- 
ing that  the  baron  was  contemplating  him. 

The  baron  feared  that  the  count  had  begun  to  feel 
compassion  for  the  widow  and  her  son,  and  had  there- 
fore banished  the  thought  of  driving  them  from  their 
home;  but,  upon  closer  observation,  this  seemed  less 
probable. 

That  Eberhard,  a  sybarite  and  fatalist,  could  enter- 
tain any  feeling  of  sympathy  for  the  unfortunate, 
seemed  to  him  so  out  of  the  question  that  he  would 
be  little  more  surprised  if  it  happened  to  himself, 
slave  of  the  world,  egoist  that  he  was. 

Meanwhile  he  sought  in  vain  to  draw  out  the  cause 
of  the  unusual  disturbance  of  mind  noticeable  in  the 
countenance  of  the  otherwise  cold  and  pleasure  sur- 
feited count.  It  was,  and  it  remained,  a  conundrum, 
for  Baron  Ehrenstam  had  not  noticed  the  wonderful 
likeness  between  Maurits  and  Eberhard,  a  likeness 
which  we  have  already  heard  remarked  upon  by  the 
steward  of  Odensvik,  that  induced  him  to  take  the 
poor  boy  under  his  "protection." 

The  baron  finally  resumed  the  interrupted  dialogue. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "will  you  go  on  with  your  building 
scheme,  now  that  you  have  made  a  closer  inspection 
of  the  location?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  cried  the  count,  aroused  as  from  a  dream. 
"Yes,  they  must  away.  That  memory — " 

Again  he  checked  himself,  and  noticed  at  the  same 
time  that  he  had  said  too  much.  The  baron  was  eye- 
ing him  curiously. 


A    BUILDING    PROJECT  25! 

He  learned  nothing,  however,  for  the  count  main- 
tained an  obstinate  silence  for  some  time. 

Silent  and  thoughtful,  the  two  riders  continued  their 
way  until  interrupted  suddenly  by  a  whining  .voice: 

"Your  obedient  servant,  right  honorable  count  and 
right  honorable  baron,  your  obedient  servant." 

These  words  were  forced  from  the  bowels  of  the 
little  rotund  priest,  Wa.ssholm,  who,  at  the  side  of  his 
shriveled  wife — the  ex-governess,  as  will  be  remem- 
bered by  the  reader — in  an  unpretentious  carriage, 
drawn  by  a  single  horse,  almost  ready  to  sink  under 
his  heavy  load,  was  making  his  way  up  a  steep  and 
difficult  hill  when  overtaken  by  the  two  horsemen. 

"Good-morning,  Herr  Priest,"  said  the  count  coldly; 
"where  are  you  going?" 

"I  am  on  my  way  home,  your  grace.  I  have  been 
out  on  a  little  parish  inspection,  and  my  wife,  who 
enjoys  a  drive,  accompanied  me  as  an  adjunct." 

And  the  priest,  thinking  he  had  made  a  very  witty 
speech,  gave  vent  to  something  intended  for  a  laugh, 
but  having  more  the  sound  of  the  gurgling  in  an  ale 
barrel. 

"That  is  quite  proper,"  observed  the  baron,  with  a 
mocking  glance  at  the  figure  of  the  priest's  companion. 
"Quite  right  to  take  the  lady  with  you,  when  one 
leaves  his  adjunct  at  home,  and  vice  versa.' 

"Ho  ho!  Your  honor,  Herr  Baron,  is  facetious  and 
merry,"  said  the  priest,  casting  a  side  glance  at  his 
wife  to  note  how  she  took  his- pleasantry. 

The  latter  betrayed  little  interest  in  the  sally,  but 
eyed  the  baron  sharply,  and  addressed  herself  wholly 
to  the  count. 

"You  are  out  for  a  little  exercise  this  divine  spring 
morning,  Herr  Count,"  said.she,with  one  of  her  sweet- 


•252  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

est  smiles.  "Ah,  even  I  could  not  withstand  the 
longing  to  again,  in  the  midst  of  nature,  released 
from  her  long  imprisonment,  enjoy  the  spring  wind's 
whispering  breath,  and  allow  the  melody  of  the  birds 
to  charm  my  ears. " 

The  count  contemplated  her  with  astonishment. 
"Grandiloquence  in  a  peasant  cart, "  thought  he.  "How 
come  these  things  together?" 

"You  are  fortunate,  Herr  Count,"  continued  the  wo- 
man. "You  are  indeed  fortunate  to  have  been  privi- 
leged, during  so  many  balmy  nights,  to  wander  in 
Italy's  hesperian  valleys.  Ah,  how  many  times  I 
have  envied  you;  how  many  times,  \yhen  my  prosaic 
surroundings,  like  a  burden  of  lead,  have  weighed 
down  my  soul's  butterfly  wings." 

"Butterfly  wings!"  muttered  the  baron,  biting  his 
lips  to  restrain  an  outburst  of  laughter.  "By  my 
soul,  she  looks  more  like  a  scarecrow  than  a  butterfly. 
That  is  rich.  Let  us  hear  the  rest  of  it." 

"How  often,"  continued  the  woman,  "in  the  anguish 
of  ceaseless  longing,  have  I  allowed  my  thoughts  to 
larry  at  the  graves  of  Tasso  and  Homer." 

This  was  too  much  for  the  baron.  Stuffing  his 
handkerchief  into  his  mouth,  he  put  spurs  to  his  horse 
and  fled. 

Eberhard  would  have  followed,  but  seeming  suddenly 
to  recollect  something,  he  checked  his  horse,  and, 
interrupting  the  astonished  woman's  sentimental  effu- 
sions, he  addressed  her  companion: 

"Herr  Priest,  I  desire  some  information  from  you." 

"At  your  service,  most  gracious  count." 

"Do  you  know,"  continued  Eberhard,  "who  the 
woman  is  who  occupies  one  of  my  cottages  at  the 
edge  of  the  village?  She'is  blind,  and  has  a  son  whc 
has  been  under  the  tuition  of  the  pastor." 


A    BUILDING    PROJECT  253 

"Ah,  Mrs.  Sterner!"  exclaimed  the  priest.  ''My 
colleague,  Pastor  Bergholm,  is  better  informed  con- 
cerning her  than  I.  All  I  know  is  that  he  says  she  was 
married  clandestinely  to  a  rich  man,  whose  unexpect- 
ed death  reduced  her  and  her  son  to  want;  that  she 
has  in  her  hands  evidences  of  her  .lawful  marriage,  and 
could,  without  difficulty,  establish  her  rights;  but 
that  she  is  baund  to  her  deceased  husband  by  a  pledge, 
or  something  of  the  kind,  not  to  do  so.  Such  is  her 
narrative  to  the  good-natured  Bergholm,  and  he  has 
undertaken  the  instruction  of  her  son.  They  have  re- 
sided here  on  your  estate  a  number  of  years.  It  is 
clear  to  me  that  the  boy  is  'a  child  of  love,'  as  the 
saying  goes,  and  that  the  mother  has  made  up  this 
story.  Such  things  are  very  common." 

"Certainly,  without  doubt,"  muttered  the  count,  ab- 
sently. "Adieu,  Herr  Priest.  I  thank  you  for  the  in- 
formation. " 

"Your  obedient  servant,  most  noble  count,  your 
humble  servant,"  cried  the  priest,  as  Eberhard  gal- 
loped away.  "He  is  in  a  devil  of  a  hurry,  don't  you 
think,  Anna  Lisa,  my  dear?" 

"My  dear  Wassholm,"  exclaimed  his  wife,  tossing 
her  head,  "how  often  must  I  tell  you  that  I  dislike  the 
name  Anna  Lisa?  The  sound  grates  horribly  on  my 
ears.  Why  not  say  Anna  Louisa,  as  I  have  repeatedly 
urged?" 

"Forgive  me,  sweet  Anna  Louisa,"  said  the  priest, 
who  entertained  great  respect  for  his  learned  spouse, 
"I  will  never  offend  again." 

And  he  gave  the  poor  horse,  which,  like  the  priest 
himself,  seemed  to  belong  to  the  conservatives,  a  cut 
with  his  whip. 

Meantime,  Eberhard  hastened  to  overtake  the  baron, 


254  THE    PI-AY    OF    FATE 

who  had  put  himself,  by  this  time,  quite  a  distance 
in  advance. 

"A  secret  marriage,"  muttered  the  count  to  himself. 
"It  is  impossible,  it  could  not  be  he.  But  the  like- 
ness, and,  above  all,  that  well-remembered  ring  with 
its  blue  stone,  who*  knows —  However  it  may  be, 
they  must  away,  away  from  my  neighborhood.  That 
memory  has  pursued  me  long  enough.  I  see  his  feat- 
ures every  night  in  my  dreams.  Why  should  I  submit 
to  having  them  before  me  ever}-  day  as  well?" 

The  count  was  interrupted  in  his  reflections  by  the 
baron,  whom  he  had  by  this  time  overtaken. 

"Well,"  shouted  the  latter,  "let  me  hear  the  termi- 
nation of  madame's  tirade.  How  did  she  get  away 
from  Homer's  grave?" 

"She  remained  there,  for  she  was  so  struck  with 
consternation  at  your  sudden  flight  that  she  was 
powerless.  But  hush!  Let  us  ride  on,  lest  they  over- 
take us." 

The  two  men  put  spurs  to  their  horses  and  had 
soon  reached  the  end  of  their  ride. 


The  day  after  this  occurrence,  Eberhard  commanded 
that  Sjoholm  be  sent  to  his  room. 

It  happened  very  rarely  that  Eberhard  ha,d  any- 
thing to  say  to  his  steward,  for,  having  confidence 
in  his  honor,  he  took  little  pains  to  examine  the  re- 
ports which  were  laid  before  him  four  times  a  year 
for  his  inspection.  When  it  sometimes  happened  that 
the  count  sent  for  him,  Herr  Sjoholm  was  always 
smitten  with  a  little  embarrassment,  for  he  was  afraid 
of  the  consequences,  and  was  never  entirely  at  ease 
in  his  conscience.  Moreover,  the  somber  and  taciturn 
count  inspired  him  with  an  indescribable  horror.  He 


A    BUILDING    PROJECT  255 

obeyed  his  master's  commands  at  once,  however,  and 
in  order  to  brace  up  his  courage  a  little,  he  hummed 
an  aria  from  "Friskytten"  while  ascending  the  stairs 
to  Eberhard's  work-room,  on  the  upper  floor  of  the 
house. 

"Hear  me,  sir,"  said  the  count  as  the  steward  en- 
tered. "I  have  sent  for  you  to  discuss  a  project  that 
I  intend  to  undertake.  I  am  thinking  of  building  an 
Italian  villa." 

"And  where,  Herr  Count?"  asked  the  steward,  very 
much  relieved. 

The  count  described  the  place  where  he  would  have 
the  building  erected,  and  added: 

"  Yon  must  notify  the  cottager  that  within  a  month 
he  must  have  moved,  for  I  intend  to  begin  the  build- 
ing as  soon  as  that." 

"I  ought  to  inform  you,  perhaps,"  interrupted  the 
steward,  "that  in  this  cottage  dwells  a  very  poor  wo- 
man who  is  blind,  and  her  son  who  works  out  the 
rent. " 

"I  know,  I  know,"  interrupted  the  count  impatiently. 
"I  remember  to  have  heard  something  of  a  distressing 
story, some  rural  innocent  who  deviated  from  the  path 
of  rectitude.  Is  it  not  so?" 

"Probably,  Herr  Count,"  said  the  steward  with  a 
grin  of  assent.  "Nevertheless,  they  will  be  wholly 
out  in  the  cold  if  they  are  driven  from  their  dwelling. 
Is  it  not  your  intention  that  they  shall  have  one  of 
the  other  cottages  on  the  estate?" 

"Oh,  no.  why  should  they?  There  are  at  present 
none  empty. " 

"Very  true,  but  we  might  put  out  some  other  ons. 
Lars  in  the  horse  pasture,  for  example,  who  is  a 
drunkard,  as  is  his  wife  also." 


256  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"No,"  said  the  count,  "the  widow  and  her  son  must 
seek  an  abiding  place  elsewhere.  Let  Lars  and  his 
wife  remain  where  they  are." 

The  inspector  was  very  much  surprised,  and  even  a 
little  alarmed,  for  he  was  not  at  all  accustomed  to 
having  the  count  take  the  least  interest  in  the  huts 
and  their  occupants. 

"You  may  give  the  widow  this  money,  in  order  that 
she  may  not  be  absolutely  penniless.  She  will  have 
no  difficulty  in  finding  another  place.  Keep  in  mind 
that  you  are  to  have  the  building  master  here  at  the 
appointed  time.  Adieu!" 

The  steward  withdrew  without  daring  to  make  any 
further  protestations.  He  went  to  the  barn,  where 
Maurits  was  at  present  employed  under  the  authorita- 
tive Anders  Peters.  Calling  the  boy  to  him,  he  said: 
"I  have  bad  news  for  you,  my  boy.  The  count  wishes 
to  build  a  pleasure  house  on  the  spot  where  your  hut 
is  located,  and  his  orders  are  that  it  be  torn  down. 
He  has  commanded  me  to  notify  you  that  you  must 
move  within  a  month." 

"Move!"  cried  Maurits,  growing  pale.  "Great  God! 
where  can  we  go?" 

"Oh;  you  will  easily  find  a  place,"  said  the  steward. 
"Besides,  the  count  has  given  me  this  money  for  your 
mother,  so  that  you  will  not  be  without  means.  Take 
it,  my  boy." 

"Money!  No!"  answered  Maurits,  thrusting  the 
outstretched  hand  from  him. 

"Are  you  crazy,  boy?" 

"Your  master  can  drive  us  from  our  dwelling-place, 
—he  has  a  right  to  do  so— but  his  money  we  will  not 
have 

"Reconsider,  Maurits,"  said  the  steward,  earnestly, 
"remember  your  blind  mother.  ' 


A    BUILDING    PROJECT  257 

"She  will  approve  my  action,"  said  the  boy.  "No 
alms,  she  has  repeatedly  declared." 

"You  must  consult  her,  nevertheless.  I  will  keep 
the  money  meanwhile,  and,  if  you  change  your  mind 
later,  you'll  find  it  with  me." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Steward." 

The  steward  departed,  and,  with  heavy  heart,  Maurits 
returned  to  his  work. 


It  was  evening.  Silent  and  depressed  sat  the  widow 
and  her  son  in  their  hut. 

The  distaff  was  no  longer  heard;  the  books  remained 
on  their  shelves,  and  through  the  little  window  the 
sinking  sun  cast  its  last  crimson  rays  But  the  blind 
woman  saw  them  not.  From  her  darkened  eyes  fell 
clear  tears  upon  the  delicate,  transparent  hand,  against 
which  she  rested  her  head;  for  although  the  poor 
mother  could  no  longer  see,  she  could  weep.  Thus 
they  had  sat  a  long  time  without  uttering  a  word. 
Maurits'  eyes  were  fixed  gloomily  upon  the  hearth, 
where  the  burning  wood  was  slowly  transformed  to 
glowing  coals,  then  turned  black,  "as  black  as  his 
fate,"  thought  the  boy. 

"We  must  move,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Sterner,  finally, 
in  broken  tones.  "O,  yes,  I  feel  that  I  shall  soon 
move  far  away,  far  away  to  Him  who  beckons  me  from 
yonder  blue  sky." 

"O,  do  not  talk  so,  mamma,"  cried  Maurits  in  dis- 
tress. "You  shall  live.  All  hope  is  not  yet  lost.' 

"Ah,  my  son,  we  have  been  very  poor,  we  have  suf- 
fered much,  but  we  have,  .even  in  this  little  home,  had 
many  hours  of  pure  and  unmixed  joy  in  and  through 
our  reciprocal  love,  and  why  will  man  hunt  us  hence?" 


258  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"To  build  a  pleasure  house!"  answered  Maurits  bit- 
terly. "Upon  this  spot  where  we  now  sit  there  will 
soon  be  a  stately  building,  mamma.  Many  happy 
couples  will  have  their  rendezvous  here;  there  will  be 
drinking,  dancing  and  music,  gayety  and  wit.  Beau- 
tiful pictures  will  adorn  the  walls,  groups  in  marble 
will  grace  the  vestibule,  and  the  plants  of  the  south 
will  spread  their  fragrance  around.  Well,  is  it  not 
good  that  such  a  splendid  thing  should  be?  Why 
should  this  miserable  hut  be  allowed  to  stand  when 
one  has  the  means  with  which  to  build  a  palace?  It 
offends  the  eyes  of  the  count  when  he  gallops  past 
on  his  piebald  steed.  No,  away  with  it— the  wretched 
nest!" 

The  boy  was  silent,  overcome  by  bitter  feelings. 

"Not  so  serious,  my  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Sterner. 
"Even  this  blow  we  should  bear  with  resignation." 

"Yes,"  said  Maurits,  "if  one  were  to  wring  the  heart 
from  your  breast,  my  patient  mother,  your  dying  utter- 
ance would  be:  'Even  this  I  ought  to  bear  with  sub 
mission.'  But  such  is  not  my  temperament ;  I  am  not 
submissive,  will  not  be.  I  will  battle,  I  will  defy 
fate.  I  will  not  be  a  lamb  for  the  offering.  O,  that 
count!" 

"Maurits!  Maurits!"  cried  Mrs.  Sterner.  "Consider 
that  the  count  has  a  perfect  right  to  eject  us,  and  that 
he  has  sent  money  to  help  us.  O,  he  is  surely  not  so 
hard  as  represented.  It  may  be  he  has  a  good  heart, 
notwithstanding,  though  led  away  by  riches.  He 
spoke  very  kindly  to  us  when  here  yesterday. " 

"Yes,  to  drive  us  from  our  home  to  day!" 

Maurits  was  silent,  but  bitter  were  the  thoughts  that 
raged  within  his  fifteen-year-old  breast.  At  last  he 
became  more  calm,  and  rising  from  his  chair,  went 


A    BUILDING    PROJECT  259 

and  leaned  his  burning  forehead  against  his  mother's 
shoulder. 

"Mother,"  said  he,  "I  have  thought  out  our  course 
of  action. " 

"What  is  it,  my  child?" 

"I  have  saved  up  a  little  money  from  my  daily  wages. 
For  the  month  that  we  may  remain  here,  I  will  wofk 
as  diligently  as  heretofore.  At  its  end  we  will  go  to 
Gothenburg  and  look  up  the  skillful  oculist  of  whom 
Oscar  spoke  to  me.  He  shall  cure  you.  You  shall 
again  have  your  sight  and  we  will  then  establish  our- 
selves in  the  city.  You  shall  sew,  and  I  will  teach 
little  children  to  read.  In  this  manner  we  can  main- 
tain ourselves.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"Yes,  yes,  my  child,  your  plan  is  not  so  bad,"  said 
Mrs.  Sterner.  "But  let  us  first  consult  the  good 
pastor." 

"Here  he  comes!  "  cried  Maurits  joyfully,  looking 
through  the  window.  "Ah,  the  noble  friend  of  human- 
ity!" 

"Good  day,  my  poor  friends,"  said  the  pastor, 
as  he  entered  the  hut.  "How  do  you  do?  I  thought 
I  would  drop  in  and  see  how  you  are  getting  along, 
as  I  am  out  in  the  discharge  of  my  duties.  You  did 
not  come  to  me  last  evening,  friend  Maurits.  I  ex- 
pected you,  because  I  wanted  to  go  over  a  portion  of 
Taciti  Annales  with  you." 

"Thank  you,  dear  pastor,"  said  Mrs.  Sterner  sorrow- 
fully. "You  are  always  good  and  generous  toward  me 
and  my  poor  boy.  But  we  have  now  been  smitten 
with  new  and  serious  troubles,  more  serious  than  ever 
before. " 

"And  what  are  they?" 

Mrs.  Sterner  informed  him  of    the  count's    determi- 


26O  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

nation  to  build  a  pleasure  resort  upon  the  site  of  their 
dwelling,  and  his  command  that  it  should  be  torn 
down. 

"Stupid!"  said  the  parson  angrily,  striding  back 
and  forth  across  the  floor,  "exceedingly  stupid!  A 
pleasure  resort?  What  does  he  want  of  more  than  he 
has?  I  have  a  great  mind  to  tell  him  what  folly  it 
is." 

The  good  pastor  thus  continued  to  mutter  and  fret, 
while  his  long,  slender  legs  measured  the  floor  in 
three  or  four  strides. 

Finally,  he  halted  before  the  blind  woman  and  ex- 
claimed: 

"Woman  !  I  shall  endeavor  to  find  you  and  your  son 
another  cottage,  better  than  this,  perhaps.  He  may 
build  his  play  house  if  he  wishes,  that  count." 

"Ah,  Herr  Pastor,"  said  Maurits,  "you  are  an  angel 
of  goodness  but  I  had  thought  out  a  course  of  action 
which  we  were  just  discussing  as  you  entered." 

"Let  us  hear  it,    my  boy." 

Maurits  repeated  the  conversation  with  his  mother 
concerning  the  Gothenburg  journey,  and  his  purpose 
to  remain  in  the  city. 

"That  is  not  so  ill  thought,"  said  the  pastor  medi- 
tatively. "However  it  may  be,  you  must  at  any  rate 
go  to  Gothenburg.  I  received  a  letter  from  Oscar  to- 
day." 

"Indeed,  and  how  is  he?"     cried    Maurits     eagerly. 

"He  is  well  and  bade  me  remember  him  to  you. 
Moreover,  he  writes  that  at  an  entertainment  he  met 
the  renowned  oculist.  An  opportunity  was  presented 
to  converse  with  him,  when  he  related  your  histor)', 
and  added  that  you  intend  visiting  the  city  to  seek  his 
aid.  The  gentleman,  who  must  be  a  very  kind-hearted 


A    BUILDING    PROJECT  261 

person,  was  much  moved  by  the  narration  of  your  mis- 
fortunes, and  promised  my  son  to  help  your  mother  to 
her  sight  again,  if  it  is  possible.  About  this  he  has 
no  doubt.  Now,  is  not  that  good  news?" 

"O,  splendid!"  cried  Maurits  in  glee.  "Noble  Oscar, 
how  I  shall  always  love  him!" 

"Do  so,  my  boy,"  said  the  pastor  feelingly.  "You 
deserve  each  the  other's  friendship.  But  I  must  go 
now.  Do  not  be  distressed,  but  comfort  yourselves  with 
hope  and  religion.  Everything  will  come  out  right, 
let  us  believe.  We  will  talk  over  your  plans  at  another 
time." 

And  the  noble  man  departed,  having  warmed  two 
hearts  with  words  of  hope  and  consolation. 

Maurits  made  no  answer,  but  sank  his  head  gloomily 
into  his  hands. 


CHAPTER    V 

THE   GREAT    HUNTING    PARTY 

As  the  reader  has  already  inferred  from  a  foregoing 
conversation,  Count  Eberhard  had  planned  a  hunt  for 
some  beautiful  day  in  the  month  of  May,  when  the 
participants,  mounted  as  in  olden  times,  should  scour 
the  forest  in  search  of  their  prey. 

The  great  day  had  come,  but,  as  matters  of  impor- 
tance to  several  of  the  principal  characters  of  our  story 
took  place  that  day  in  different  localities,  and  under 
various  conditions,  we  must,  for  the  purpose  of  clear- 
ness, divide  our  narrative  into  parts,  beginning,  there- 
fore, with: 

SCENE   FIRST 

It  is  early  morning.  The  clock  in  the  great  hall  of 
Odensvik  strikes  the  third  quarter  of  four.  The  yet 
somewhat  faint  rays  of  the  recently  risen  sun  are  just 
beginning  to  play  through  the  high,  silk  draped  win- 
dows. Almost  the  whole  household  is  wrapped  in 
slumber.  Not  a  sound  is  heard.  The  silence  of  the 
grave  prevails.  Suddenly,  and  at  almost  the  same  in- 
stant, the  doors  at  opposite  ends  of  the  hall  opened. 
One  of  these  leads  through  an  outer  room  to  Angela's 
bed-chamber  and  boudoir,  the  other  to  Eberhard' s 
several  rooms,  one  of  which  is,  for  the  time  being, 
occupied  by  M.  Crispin. 

Two  persons,  a  man  and  a  woman,  hasten  with  silent 
tread  to  meet  each  other.  The  woman  is  yet  only  half 

262 


THE  GREAT  HUNTING  PARTY  263 

clad.  Her  arms,  her  bosom,  her  shoulders,  are  bare 
of  raiment,  but  partly  shielded  by  her  raven-black 
locks,  which  fall  unconfined  over  them. 

"Angela,"  said  the  man,  as  they  met  midway  in  the 
hall,  "can  we  converse  without  danger?  Does  he 
sleep?  " 

"He  sleeps  like  a  log,"  answered  Angela  laughing. 
"I  made  no  end  of  noise  in  getting  away  and  yet  he 
did  not  wake. " 

"Good!  Let  us  then  arrange  everything.  In  two 
hours  the  guests  will  have  arrived.  Quick,  to  work!" 

"I  have  tied  all  my  goods  in  a  large  bundle,  which 
I  have  hidden  under  the  bureau  in  the  cabinet.  I'll 
fetch  it. " 

"Yes,  but  make  haste.  " 

Angela  withdrew  for  a  few  minutes,  and  returned 
dragging  a  heavy  parcel. 

"We  are  not  safe  here,  come  into  my  room." 

"In  a  minute,  but  tell  me  first,  have  you  made  all 
necessary  preparations?" 

"Yes,  our  goods  will  be  taken  to  Carlstad  by  a  wag- 
oner whom  I  have  engaged  He  is  even  now  waiting 
in  the  park.  We  will  follow  in  the  evening,  and  go 
at  once  on  board  a  merchantman,  which  is  to  sail  im- 
mediately for  Gothenburg.  Everything  is  arranged 
with  the  captain.  Our  ready  money  and  diamonds 
we  must  take  with  us.  The  valises  containing  our 
other  things,  the  wagoner  is  instructed  to  deliver  to 
the  captain.  We  must  leave  a  few  articles  behind,  so 
as  not  to  create  suspicion  if  he  should  miss  anything. 
What  have  you  in  the  bundle?" 

"\V_ait,  and  I  will  show  you." 

Angela  approached  a  table,  upon  which  she  untied 
the  bundle. 


264  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

A  motley  mixture  of  effects  was  there  revealed  to  the 
Frenchman's    eyes.      Splendid    dresses    of  velvet    and 
silk,  richly  embroidered     with    gold  and  silver,   cash- 
mere shawls,  veils,  cut  glass  bottles,  toilet  articles  of 
silver  and  gold,  also  a  small  casket  filled  with  jewelry. 
Such  was  the   precious  burden    Angela    had    gathered 
together.    Then,  with  a  small  key,  she  opened  the  cas 
ket,  and  an  irrepressible  cry  of  wonder    escaped    from 
the  lips  of  the  Frenchman  at  sight  of    the  rich    treas 
ure  it  contained. 

Blazing  diamonds  of  the  clearest  water;  sets  splen- 
did with  emeralds,  turquoises,  and  sapphires  in  all  their 
variety  of  color;  brooches/  bracelets,  neck  ornaments, 
diadems,  and,  finally,  a  rosary  of  large,  oriental  pearls, 
all  sparkling  like  a  shower  of  radiance  from  the  spring 
sun,  dazzled  his  eager  eyes. 

"Lock  the  casket  and  give  it  to  me,"  said  Crispin, 
after  he  had  feasted  his  eyes  for  a  time  on  the  ines- 
timable treasure.  "I  can  care  for  it  better  than  you." 

Angela  obeyed,  and  handed  it  to  her  companion,  re- 
taining the  key,  which  she  returned  to  its  place  of 
keeping  next  her  bosom. 

"Come  now,"  said  Crispin,  "we  must  take  these 
things  to  the  wagoner.  Be  quick!"  And  these  two 
characters  pass  out. 

SCENE  SECOND 

It  is  two  and  a  half  hours  later.  We  find  ourselves 
in  the  same  place  as  in  the  preceding  scene. 

It  is  now  livelier,  however.  The  breakfast  table  is 
spread,  and  the  guests  are  doing  justice  to  the  various 
dishes  set  before  them. 

Surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  gallant  cavaliers,  Angela 
is  seen  at  her  best,  clad  in  a  costly  and  tasteful  riding- 


THE    GREAT    HUNTING    PARTY  265 

habit  of  green  velvet,  a  pair  of  silver  spurs  jingling 
at  the  heels  of  her  half  boots  of  serge,  lined  and 
bound  with  red  morocco,  and  a  hat  of  black  velvet 
with  broad  brim  and  fluttering  plumes  on  her  head. 

She  is  to-day  gloriously  beautiful,  and  Eberhard 
contemplates  her  with  pride,  delight  and  jealousy, 
while  she  gayly  exchanges  pleasantries  with  the  lively 
gathering  of  guests. 

Assembled  in  the  yard  are  a  large  number  of  horses 
and  dogs,  attended  by  servants  jn  rich  liveries.  On 
all  sides  is  activity  and  life.  Glasses  are  emptied  by 
the  guests  in  the  salon ;  the  neigh  of  horses,  the  bay 
of  hounds,  fill  the  air,  whose  winged  songsters,  this 
beautiful  spring  morning,  blend  their  notes  in  joyful 
concert. 

"Beautiful  Diana,"  cried  the  animated  Baron  Y — 
touching  glasses  with  Angela.  "Beautiful,  radiant 
queen  of  the  chase!  The  denizens  of  the  forest  will  fly 
quaking  before  you  when  you  rush  down  upon  them, 
and  as  true  knights,  we  will  follow  you  and  lay  the 
fruits  of  the  day  at  your  feet.  Let  us  drink  to  good 
fortune. " 

"Let  me  join  you,"  said  Crispin,  raising  his  glass, 
glancing  at  Angela  significantly.  "Success  to  our 
chase,  beautiful  Angela." 

Eberhard,  though  apparently  taken  up  with  the 
other  guests,  was,  nevertheless,  listening  with  anx- 
ious attention  to  every  word  that  passed  in  Angela's 
circle,  and  looked  up  quickly  at  Crispin's  utterances. 
The  Frenchman  had  laid  such  a  strong  emphasis  upon 
the  words  "our  chase,"  that  Eberhard  contemplated 
him  with  a  glance  of  surprise  and  mistrust. 

Crispin  observed  this.  Leisurely,  and  without  the 
least  sign  of  embarrassment,  he  approached  the  group 


266  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

by  which  Eberhard  was  surrounded,  and  exclaimed 
in  a  light,  jesting  tone:  "Senora  Angela  and  I  some 
days  ago  determined  to  be  the  first  to-day  to  shout 
ah  tod.  Both  being  foreigners,  we  shall  esteem  it  no 
little  honor,  among  such  experienced  hunters  as  the 
Swedes,  to  make  the  first  lucky  shot.  Let  us  see  how 
it  will  be." 

"We  gladly  enter  the  contest  with  you,"  said  Eber- 
hard, his  suspicions  wholly  dispelled.  "We  will  vie 
with  you.  What  do  you  say,  gentlemen?" 

"A  la  bonheur!"  said  Angela,  who  had  meantime 
approached.  "You  may  compete  with  us.  but  excel 
us,  you  shall  not.  Let  me  tell  you  that  I  can  hit  a 
swallow  on  the  wing." 

"And  a  man  in  the  heart,"  said  Baron  Ehrenstam, 
with  a  courteous  bow. 

"But  now,  to  horse!"  resumed  Eberhard.  "Gentle- 
men, one  glass  more,  then  to  our  work! '' 

The  glasses  were  filled  with  foaming  champagne,  and 
emptied  with  a  hurrah  for  the  sport. 

The  company  now  rushed  to  the  yard,  sprang  into 
their  saddles,  and,  with  Eberhard  and  Angela  leading, 
the  hunting  party  started  clamorously  forward  over 
hills  and  dales. 

SCENE  THIRD 

It  is  a  few  hours  later  in  the  forenoon.  In  the  un- 
pretentious hut  we  find  Mrs.  Sterner  and  her  son  at- 
tired for  a  journey. 

The  little  room  is  bare.  The  articles  of  furniture 
constituting  the  widow/s  meager  possessions  have 
been  moved  to  the  rectory.  Pastor  Bergholm  has 
promised  to  take  care  of  them  until  the  owner  and  her 
son  return  from  Gothenburg,  for  which  place  they  are 
just  now  in  readiness  to  set  out. 


THE    GREAT    HUNTING   PARTY  -.267 

They  are  taking  a  last  look  at  their  home,  where 
they  have  suffered  so  many  years,  worked  and  shared 
their  sorrows  and  rejoicings.  When  they  return,  if  ever 
they  do,  their  little  dwelling  will  be  torn  down  and 
another  building  raised  upon  the  spot  where  it  stood. 

The  blind  mother  leans  on  her  son's  arm,  as  the 
latter  with  tearful  eyes  contemplates  the  naked  walls, 
the  smoke  begrimed  ceiling,  the  fireplace,  every  cor- 
ner in  the  deserted  abode  where  the  greater  part  of 
his  boyhood  has  been  spent.  Mrs.  Sterner  herself 
seems  to  be  much  weakened,  to  be  suffering  sorely. 
An  incurable  lung  trouble  is  drawing  her  nearer  the 
grave;  but  she  conceals  her  danger  in  order  not  to 
dampen  her  son's  hopes,  and  bring  distress  upon  him. 

She  endeavors  to  appear  strong,  poor  woman,  not- 
withstanding her  strength  is  ceaselessly  diminishing. 
With  a  faint  smile,  and  a  weak  pressure  of  the  hand, 
she  responds  to  the  tender  attentions  bestowed  upon 
her  by  Her  son. 

"My  dear  mother!"  exclaims  Maurits,  after  casting  a 
lingering  glance  around  the  desolate  home  of  his  boy- 
hood, "let  us  now  begin  our  journey  into  the  great  un- 
known world.  When  we  return  here,  you  shall  again 
see,  and  we  will  dwell  in  a  more  comfortable  habita- 
tion, which  the  pastor  has  promised  to  have  in  readi- 
ness for  us  if  we  do  not  find  it  advantageous  to  remain 
in  Gothenburg.  Come,  mother,  I'll  be  your  conductor, 
and  when  you  tire  of  walking  we  will  get  a  convey- 
ance and  ride.  Do  you  feel  strong  enough?" 

"Yes,  my  son.      Let  us  go. " 

And  steadying  herself  on  her  beloved  son's  arm,  the 
blind  woman  left  for  all  time  the  miserable  abode, 
and  the  only  one  that  had  offered  her  shelter  in  the 
days  of  her  want  and  distress,  but  from  which  she  was 


268  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

now  hunted  by  the  rich  man  who,  to  please  his  mis- 
tress, would  here  erect  a  dwelling  for  her. 

It  was  a  clear  and  somewhat  chilly  day.  Thinly  clad, 
Mrs.  Sterner  shivered  at  every  gust  of  wind;  her  fee- 
ble and  exhausted  condition  making  her  very  sensitive. 

The  two  travelers  having  reached  the  highway,  bent 
their  steps  in  the  direction  of  the  forest,  where  we 
have  before  seen  Maurits  gathering  wood  for  his  sick 
mother,  and  listening  to  Jacob  Kron's  horrible  life 
history. 

Maurits  was  unusually  live!}'.  The  weather  was 
beautiful,  the  sky  blue,  the  meadows  green  and  glo- 
rious with  flowers  Hopes  of  better  days  filled  the 
youth's  soul.  It  was  a  generous  providence  that 
looked  down  upon  him  with  loving  eyes  from  the  sun's 
burning  sphere.  Holy  emotions  warmed  his  spirit. 
Light  and  tranquillity  chased  away  the  gloomy  impres- 
sions that  doubt  and  mistrust  had  bred  within  him. 
He  thought  of  his  blind  mother,  who  had  no  other 
support  in  the  world  than  him.  He  saw  her  walking 
by  his  side;  he  marked  how,  little  by  little,  her  pace 
became  stronger  and  more  brisk,  how  a  faint  glow 
colored  her  cheeks  ;  knowing  nothing  of  the  secret  pain 
that  she  concealed  within  her  breast  to  spare  him 
anxiety. 

He  said  to  himself,  "In  a  few  days  we  will  be  in 
Gothenburg,  and  my  mother  shall  there  have  her  sight 
restored  to  her.  Oscar  Bergholrn  will  then  take  us 
around  and  show  us  all  the  noteworthy  things — the 
churches,  the  exchange,  the  harbor.  Oh,  how  delight- 
ful it  will  be!  And  then  we  may,  perhaps,  establish 
ourselves  in  the  city.  Mamma  may  work,  as  before, 
and  I  will  get  small  boys  to  teach,  and  during  my 
leisure  hours  I  can  continue  my  own  studies.  Ah, 


THE  GREAT  HUNTING  PARTY  269 

but  I'll  be  so  industrious  that  my  mother  may  rejoice 
in  me." 

And  his  mother  was  always  the  center  around  which 
these  illusive  dreams  were  built.  Her  venerable  and 
beloved  form  stood  always  in  the  middle,  surrounded 
by  all  the  roses  with  which  love  and  childish  fancy 
could  adorn  her.  She  was  the  ideal  of  his  thoughts, 
his  dreams — his  boyhood's,  his  manhood's  guardian 
angel. 

Maurits' cheerful  frame  of  mind  was  even  shared  by 
his  mother.  The  exercise  had  soon  made  her  warm; 
the  fragrance  of  the  flowers,  the  songs  of  the  birds,  and 
the  salubrious  rays  of  the  sun  operated  agreeably  up- 
on both  her  soul  and  body.  She  laughed  at  her  son's 
plans,  and  even  indulged  in  little  pleasantries  now 
and  then,  such  as  had  been  strangers  to  her  lips  for 
many  months. 

"At  the  next  inn  we  will  get  a  horse,  mamma," 
said  Maurits.  "It  will  be  altogether  too  much  for  you 
to  undertake  the  whole  journey  on  foot." 

"Ah,  if  only  our  little  means  will  permit.  Maurits, 
how  much  have  we  in  our  treasury?" 

"All  of  thirteen  riks-dollars,  and  a  few  skillings. 
It  is  not  much,  to  be  sure,  but,  with  economy,  we  can 
get  through  very  nicely." 

The  wayfarers  had  now  reached  the  heap  of  stones 
with  which  the  reader  is  already  acquainted,  marking 
the  place  of  the  murder. 

Maurits  cast  his  eyes  upward  toward  it.  With  a 
shudder,  he  noticed  on  its  summit  a  lone  person  with 
arms  folded  across  his  breast,  leaning  upon  a  gun, 
and  apparently  sunk  in  deep  thought. 

Though  the  man  had  drawn  his  hat  far  down  over 
his  face,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  ground  so 


270  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

that  his  features  were  not  clearly  discernable,  some- 
thing told  Maurits  that  he  was  no  other  than  his  evil 
genius — the  outcast,  the  criminal — Jacob  Kron. 

Unobserved, the  boy  and  his  mother  passed  the  stone 
heap;  the  gloomy,  pensive  being  on  its  peak  not  once 
lifting  his  eyes. 

"Come,  mother,  let  us  hurry, "  said  Maurits,  in  whose 
•soul  the  melancholy,  bitter  memories  were  again  set 
raging. 

And  they  hastened  forward. 

A  few  paces  on  the  other  side     of  the  monument,  a' 
little  by-path    ran    transversely    across  the     highway, 
making  here  a  right     angle  and     forming  at    the  same 
time  a  cross. 

Maurits,  with  his  companion,  had  reached  the  mid- 
dle of  the  two  arms  of  the  cross  when,  suddenly,  from 
the  right,  sounds  of  horses'  hoofs  were  heard,  and  two 
horsemen,  preceded  by  a  brace  of  hunting-dogs, 
dashed  with  lightning  speed  down  the  path  toward 
them. 

Before  Maurits  could  drag  his  helpless  charge  back, 
the  horse  of  one  of  the  riders  had  gone  over  them. 
They  were  thrown  to  the  ground.  The  riders  did  not 
observe  this,  or 'would  not  heed  the  accident  of  which 
they  had  been  the  cause,  and  disappeared  in  a  cloud 
of  dust.  But  with  the  glimpse  Maurits  secured  of 
them  as  they  passed  over  him,  he  recognized  them 
both.  The  one,  he  whose  horse  had  run  them  down, 
was  Count  Eberhard  of  Odensvik, Maurits'  former  mas- 
ter; the  other,  the  proud,  cold,  commanding  figure  of 
the  father  of  the  child  whom  he  had  saved  from  death 
in  the  river,  but  who  was  otherwise,  both  as  to  name 
and  residence,  unknown  to  him. 

Maurits  had  not  been  injured,  and    was    quickly  on 


THE    GREAT    HUNTING  .  PARTY  2JI 

his  feet  again;  but  at  his  side,  in  the  road,  lay  his 
mother,  unconscious,  and  bleeding  from  a  deep  wound 
on  her  head. 

Maurits  gazed  with  confused  look  around  him. 
There  was  no  one  in  sight.  Both  horsemen  had  dis- 
appeared. Hereupon  he  gave  vent  to  a  loud  cry  of 
agony,  of  rage,  grasped  his  half-dead  mother,  and 
bore  her  to  the  edge  of  the  road,  where  he  laid  her 
tenderly  upon  the  grass. 

Hurried  blasts  of  a  horn  reached  his  ears.  Maurits 
looked  up. 

A  stately  huntress,  who,  doubtless,  belonged  to  the 
same  company  with  the  two  riders  just  gone  past, 
dashed  a  few  paces  up  the  road,  then  followed  in  their 
tracks.  Only  a  second,  and  she,  too,  was  out  of  sight 
among  the  dark  trunks  of  the  forest.  No  one  had 
noticed  the  boy  kneeling  by  his  wounded,  perhaps 
dying  mother. 

Again  the  boy's  faith  was  shaken,  and  doubt  took 
possession  of  his  soul. 

"My  mother,  my  dearly  loved  mother!"  cried  he, 
the  tears  streaming  from  his  eyes  on  to  her  pale  face, 
"are  you  going  to  die  in  such  an  atrocious  manner, 
ridden  down  by  the  horse  of  a  rich  man?  O,  no, 
awake,  awake  ! " 

But  no,  she  showed  no  signs  of  life.  "Woe  is  me! 
What  shall  I  do?  Help!  help!" 

And  Maurits  began  to  shout  with  all  his  strength 
No  one  came.  Slowly  the  beloved  mother's  blood 
coursed  through  the  green  grass.  Maurits  bared  his 
breast,  tore  a  strip  from  his  shirt,  and  with  it  bound 
the  gaping  wound  as  well  as  he  could.  Then  springing 
up  he  hastened  to  a  ditch  near  by,  from  which  he  re- 
turned with  his  cap  full  of  water,  and  proceeded  to 


272  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

bathe  her  deathly  pale  face.  The  poor  woman  began 
to  manifest  signs  of  returning  consciousness.  Her 
closed  eyes  opened  slowly,  and  her  bosom  was  seen 
to  heave,  giving  vent  to  a  sigh. 

She  is  still  alive,"  said  Maurits,  trembling  with 
anguish  as  he  contemplated  her,  "but  where  shall  I 
take  her?  Heavenly  Father,  whence  shall  I  receive 
assistance  and  rescue?" 

"Here!"  said  a  voice  behind  him. 

Maurits  sprang  up,  and  turned  around.  Jacob  Kron 
stood  before  him. 

"Quick!  "  cried  Maurits,  "save  my  mother,  and  I 
will  renew  the  oath  which  you  extracted  from  me  when 
a  child — Hannibal's  oath  against  the  rich." 

"Good!"  said  the  beggar  coldly;  "I'll  do  what  I 
can.  A  little  hut,  just  now  untehanted,  lies  a  stone's 
throw  from  here,  deep  in  the  forest.  We  will  take 
your  mother  there,  and  I  will  fetch  a  priest  and  a 
doctor.  Poor  woman!"  added  he,  with  a  bitter  smile 
of  scorn,  "she  will  desire  the  comforts  of  religion  be- 
fore she  dies.  That  will  be  something  to  her." 

Assisted  by  Maurits,  Jacob  lifted  the  still  half  un- 
conscious woman  from  the  ground,  whereupon  they 
crossed  the  highway  and  disappeared  by  a  little  foot- 
path that  wound  r.mong  the  trees  toward  the  depths 
of  the  forest. 

SCENE    FOURTH 

Mid-day.  An  open  place  in  the  forest  surrounded 
by  shade  trees,  and  watered  by  a  refreshingly  cool 
spring.  The  servants  are  engaged  in  emptying  several 
large  baskets  of  their  contents,  consisting  of  all  kinds 
of  cold  meats,  wine,  and  other  articles  of  refreshment, 


THE    GREAT    HUNTING    PARTY  273 

and  arranging  a  tempting  repast  upon  the  green  sward. 
In  the  distance,  here  and  there,  are  heard  the  baying 
of  hounds,  the  blast  of  the  hunting  horn,  and  now  and 
then  a  shot.  Everything  looks  beautiful  and  fresh  in 
the  summer-clad  forest. 

"Pierre,  there  is  no  champagne!"  exclaimed  one  of 
the  servants,  having  reached  the  bottom  of  a  basket. 

"O,  ho!  I  have  a  special  basket  here  for  champagne 
and  sherry,  of  which  -the  count  is  so  fond,  See  here!" 

He  held  a  white  sealed  bottle  up  to  the  view  of  his 
companion. 

"How  many  of  the  boys  have  you,  Pierre?"  asked 
the  latter. 

"Ten,  besides  a  whole  regiment  of  Port,  Rhine  and 
Moselle,  as  we  are  to  brew  a  bowl  of  Carolina." 

"It  is  only  fair,  then,  Pierre,  that  we  have  a  taste 
of  the  good  cheer.  What  do  you  say?" 

"Certainly,  for  no  one  will  look  out  for  that  if  we 
do  not.  The  count  has  little  concern  about  any  other 
than  himself.  Do  you  think  he  will  remember  the 
servants  with  a  bottle?  Not  much!" 

"Will  we  not  do  well  to  look  out  for  ourselves?"  said 
the  other,  at  the  same  time  lifting  a  bottle  from  the 
basket,  "Who  keeps  account  of  the  wine?  Not  our 
master,  by  any  means." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  answered  Pierre  thoughtfully, 
listening  attentively  on  every  side. 

"Yes.  It  will  be  very  easy  to  get  the  cork  out  of 
this  one.  Only  a  few  pulls  with  a  knife,  and  away  it 
will  go  into  the  air." 

"I  will  not  do  it,"  continued  Pierre.  "And  you, 
Jean?" 

"Neither  will  I,"  said  his  companion,  at  the  same 
time  cutting  the  wires  that  held  the  cork.  "Bang! 
there,  we  have  it." 


274  THE    PLAY     OF    FATE 

The  cork  flew  into  the  air,  and  a  portion  of  the  effer- 
vescing wine  flew  over  the  clothes  of  Jean.  Conveying 
the  bottle  hastily  to  his  mouth,  he  emptied  half  of 
the  contents  into  his  stomach,  then  handed  the  re- 
mainder to  his  comrade,  who  soon  finished  it. 

"So,"  said  the  latter,  throwing  the  empty  bottle 
among  the  trees;  "now  dry  your  clothes,  and  we  will 
give  the  signal  that  all  is  read}'." 

Jean  obeyed,  then  placing  a  large  hunting  horn  to 
h's  lips,  blew  a  blast  that  made  the  woods  echo  again. 

It  vas  the  signal  for  the  assembling.  The  hungry 
and  tired  hunters  soon  began  to  arrive  from  different 
quarters,  some  laden  with  game,  others  empty-handed. 

''Well,"  said  Eberhard,  who  was  among  the  first  to 
reach  the  spot,  "are  all  here?  No,  some  are  still 
wanting,  but  that  can't  be  helped.  According  to  agree- 
ment, we  are  not  to  wait  for  them.  Be  seated,  Baron 
Ehrenstam.  Angela,  my  Angela,  seat  yourself  here 
at  my  side.  Baron  Y — ,  throw  yourself  down  upon 
the  green  grass  by  Lieutenant  X — .  There  come  some 
more  hunters.  Welcome,  gentlemen.  The  glasses 
beckon  us." 

The  hunters  tied  their  horses  to  the  surrounding 
trees,  near  where  the  dinner  was  spread,  and  threw 
themselves  with  ineffable  pleasure  upon  the  green. 

Crispin  and  Angela  had  arrived  together.  While 
tying  their  horses  near  each  other,  the  Frenchman 
addressed  the  woman  in  a  low  tone: 

"There  will  be  a  great  carousal  during  and  after 
dinner.  When  the  gayety  is  at  its  height,  we  must 
steal  away,  loosen  our  horses,  and  disappear.  I'll 
give  you  the  signal  when  we  are  to  go.  You  are  to 
hasten  in.  advance  to  the  appointed  meeting-place,  and 
I  will  be  with  you  soon.  It  will  not  do  for  us  to  leave 
at  the  same  time." 


THE  GREAT  HUNTING  PARTY  275 

"I  understand,"  said  Angela. 

The  two  conspirators  took  their  places  among  the 
other  guests. 

We  need  hardly  say  that  the  dinner  was  delightful. 
Songs,  toasts,  and  music  divided  the  time  and  enliv- 
ened the  hour. 

After  the  repast,  during  which  the  wine  had  not 
been  spared,  a  steaming  bowl  was  brought  forth.  The 
rejoicing  was  at  its  culminating  point.  The  whole  of 
this  animating  scene  was  lighted  up  by  the  clearest  of 
spring  suns,  whose  warm  rays,  falling  from  a  cloudless 
sky,  contributed  in  no  small  degree  to  the  pleasures  of 
the  rural  feast. 

Finally,  accompanied  by  the  hunters'  horns,  the 
tones  of  Bellman's  Idyl  floated  on  the  breeze: 

"Rest  by  this  spring,  etc." 


Only  a  stone's  throw  from  this  spot  lay,  concealed 
among  the  trees^  a  little,  half  rotten  hut,  wherein  was 
sheltered  a  dying  woman,  a  child,  and  a  refugee  from 
the  laws  of  the  land. 

The  sounds  of  the  horns,  of  the  bustle,  the  laugh 
ami  jests,  penetrated  the  dilapidated  door  and  the 
shattered  window  to  the  dying  woman,  who  lay 
stretched  upon  an  improvised  bed  of  weeds  and 
grass  in  a  corner  of  the  single  room. 

"Maurits,"  said  she  with  failing  voice,  "give  me  a 
drop  of  water;  I  faint." 

"Pierre,"  cried  Eberhard,  a  few  yards  away,  "give 
me  a  sherry  glass.  That  punch  is  truly  good,  but — " 

"Mother,"  said  Maurits,  weeping,  as  he  held  a 
broken  bowl  filled  with  water  to  her  lips,  "O,  say  that 
you  will  not  die!  Say  that  you  may  yet  recover,  or 
I  will  kill  myself  at  your  side." 


276  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"I  wonder  how  it  fared  with  that  boy  and  woman 
that  your  horse  knocked  down,"  said  the  baron  in  an 
undertone,  picking  his  teeth.  "Such  people,  as  a  rule, 
however,  can  stand  a  tumble  without  much  harm." 

"Poor  woman,  unfortunate  child!"  muttered  Jacob 
Kron,  who,  with  folded  arms,  stood  leaning  against 
the  window-sill  in  the  hut.  "What  a  cruel  fate  pursues 
you!  The  last  weak  tie  that  holds  that  youth  to  hope, 
to  virtue,  to  faith,  is  now  to  be  severed  as  it  was 
severed  for  me.  For  the  many  thousand  lamentable 
endeavors,  foolish  struggles,  what  is  our  gain?"  A 
ringing  blast  from  a  hunter's  horn  was  at  this  instant 
borne  upon  the  winds  to  his  ears,  cutting  short  the 
soliloquy  of  the  wretched  man,  rendering  him  silent. 

"Where  is  Angela?"  said  Eberhard,  a  moment  later, 
looking  around  him  anxiously.  "Has  anyone  seen  her?'1 
No  one  answered. 

Most  of  his  guests  were  half  drunk.  The  count  was 
unable  to  make  himself  heard  amidst  the  noise  of  the 
company. 

"Man!"  he  shouted  vehemently,    grasping    Lieuten 
ant  X —  by  the  arm,  and  giving  him  a  violent  shake, 
"answer!     Have  you  see  Angela? — and  Crispin?    He  is 
also  missing.      What  does  this  mean?" 

"I —  don't  know  "  stammered  the  lieuienanl,  who 
was  already  well  mellowed;  "they  have  ri — ri — ridden 
away,  I  think." 

"Ridden  away!  "  shrieked  the  count  in  anguish. 
"Ha,  I  see!  Their  horses  are  also  gone.  Death  and 
the  devil!  " 

No  one  heeded  Eberhard's  words,  for  the  glasses 
were  steadily  going  the  rounds,  and  the  punch  bowl 
was  filled  anew  by  the  attentive  Pierre,  who,  no  sooner 
than  one  was  disposed  of,  had  a  new  preparation  in 
readiness. 


THE    GREAT    HUNTING    PARTY  277 

"Gentlemen!"  roared  Eberhard  in  rage,  "hush  your 
accursed  prattle,  and  hear  what  I  have  to  say." 

In  vain.  The  most  sober  of  the  company  were 
silent  for  an  instant;  but  the  others  were  even  more 
noisy  than  before.  The  count  could  nowhere  gain 
attention.  At  last,  grasping  Baron  Ehrenstam,  who 
had  drunk  sparingly,  he  drew  him  aside,  and  ex- 
claimed, in  a  voice  which  clearly  betrayed  his  dis- 
turbance of  mind: 

"My  dear  baron,  can  you  tell  me  whither  my  mis- 
tress is  fled?  She  has  disappeared." 

"Disappeared?"  said  the  baron  surprised.  "She  was 
surely  here  only  a  short  time  ago.  She  has  doubtless 
left  this  noisy  company  to  refresh  herself  with  a  walk 
in  the  woods.  Consider  that  a  lone  woman,  and  a 
woman  of  intelligence  such  as  she,  is  not  likely  to 
find  a  crowd  of  half  drunken  men  the  most  agreeable 
companions.  Compose  yourself,  she  will  return  soon." 

"I  will  hope  so,"  said  the  count,  smothering  his 
anxiety,  "but  Crispin!  Crispin  is  also  missing." 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed  the  baron,  looking  about  him, 
"that  looks  strange.  Being  occupied  in  lively  conver- 
sation with  Captain  K — ,  I  have  not  noticed  what  was 
going  on  around  me.  Let  us  ride  out  and  search  for 
them." 

So  be  it,"  said  the  count.  "From  these  heroes  of 
the  cup  we  may  hope  for  no  assistance.  Leave  them, 
therefore,  to  their  fate. " 

Eberhard  announced  to  the  most  sober  of  the  com- 
pany that  a  matter  of  importance  compelled  him  to 
leave  them  for  a  time.  He  would  return  shortly,  how- 
ever, and  bade  them  not  to  be  disturbed. 

There  was  soon  a  general  remounting7.  Within  a 
half  hour,  the  place  was  deserted  by  all  except  Pierre 


278  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

and  Jean,  who  were  left  to  gather  up  the  remains  of 
the  feast. 

Until  late  in  the  night,  .Eberhard  wandered  around 
in  the  neighborhood,  inquiring,  calling,  searching. 
Nowhere  could  he  find  a  trace  of  the  vanished  couple. 
No  one  had  seen  them. 

In  despair,  he  finally  returned  home,  conflicting 
thoughts  chasing  each  other  through  his  brain.  Vainly 
he  sought  an  interpretation  of  the  strange  circum- 
stances connected  with  this  unaccountable  disappear- 
ance that  had,  at  the  same  time,  deprived  him  of  his 
mistress  and  his  friend. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  until  he  found  a  solution 
to  the  riddle. 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN.    EPISODE 

It  was  midnight.  Eberhard  had  sent  a  number  of 
the  servants  out  to  search  for  the  missing  pair.  One 
after  the  other  returned  without  bringing  any  trust- 
worthy information. 

Overwhelmed  with  misery,  Eberhard  wandered  from 
room  to  room  of  the  spacious  mansion.  He  was  alone, 
deserted  by  all,  by  everything,  except  his  conscience. 

"Ha,  what  is  this!  "he  burst  forth,  upon  discovering 
a  letter  lying  on  the  Frenchman's  table,  addressed  to 
himself.  "A  letter  to  me!  and  in  Crispin's  hand!" — 
He  grasped  it  eagerly  and  was  about  to  break  the  seal 
but,  on  the  instant,  a  violent  trembling  shook  his 
limbs  and  rendered  powerless  his  hands.  He  knew 
instinctively  that  this  letter  meant  his  destruction. 
For  an  instant,  he  was  almost  tempted  to  burn  it  with- 
out learning  its  contents,  but  curiosity  gained  the 
mastery. 

"No,  it  would  be  cowardly,"  muttered  he  with  quiv- 
ering lips.  "I  will  look  my  fate  in  the  face.  Read, 
then!" 

He  broke  the  seal,  and,  slowly  unfolding  the  letter, 
proceeded  to  read,  leaning  the  while  against  the  writ- 
ing table.  The  contents  were  as  follows:  — 

"MoN  CHER  EBERHARD: — Without  doubt,  you  will, 
with  great  surprise,  see  yourself  deserted  at  once  by 
your  friend  and  your  mistress.  It  belongs  to  me,  there- 

279 


280  THE    PLAY   OF    FATE 

fore,  to  lay  before  you  the  attendant  circumstances. 
You  have  shown  me  great  hospitality,  and  in  grati- 
tude, I  will  relate  to  you  a  little  story. 

"One  night  during  the  Reign  of  Terror  in  France,  a 
traveling  .carriage  dashed  with  lightning  speed  through 
the  streets  of  Paris,  and  passed  out  of  the  city  by  the 
south  gate.  In  that  carriage  sat  an  old  man,  a  young 
man  and  a  girl  of  sixteen. 

"The  young  man, whose  baptismal  name  was  Antony, 
had  been,  up  to  this  hour,  one  of  the  leaders  of  the 
most  powerful  Jacobin  clubs  in  the  city.  In  this 
character  he  had  gained  great  influence  over  the 
masses.  His  word  was  a  power  among  the  authorities, 
and  his  popularity  threatened  to  become  dangerous. 
This  notwithstanding,  he  had  left  behind  him  all  the 
brilliant  prospects  that  this  popularity  opened  to  him. 
He  departed  from  Paris,  the  wrestling  place  of  polit- 
ical passions,  deserted  the  field  upon  which  he  had 
dreamed  of  victory,  honor  and  influence,  and  that  to 
follow  the  fortunes  of  an  old  man  and  a  child  to  Italy. 
The  motive  to  this  was:  That  old  man  and  his  daugh- 
ter had  been  arraigned  before  the  tribunal,  and  con- 
demned to  die  as  legitimists.  The  guillotine  awaited 
them.  You  know  that  in  those  days  they  made  short 
work  of  the  accused. 

"Antony, who  loved  the  young  girl,  had  determined, 
even  at  the  risk  of  his  life,  to  snatch  her  and  her  father 
from  the  fate  that  menaced  them.  It  was  no  light 
undertaking  to  rescue  from  the  bloodthirsty  mass  a 
political  offering.  The  rabble,  accustomed  to  daily 
scenes  of  blood,  threatened  to  tear  in  pieces  every 
one  who  ventured  to  proclaim  himself  one  of  the 
hated  aristocrats. 

"In  spite  of  the  dangers  and    difficulties  that    beset 


AN    EPISODE  28l 

him,  Antony  did  not  lose  with  courage.  He  plead 
Robespierre,  Danton  and  the  other  powers  in  the 
bloody  reign,  for  the  life  of  the  young  girl  and  her 
father.  The  endeavor  was  not  crowned  with  the  hope 
of  success.  The  young  man  was  shown  the  door,  and 
himself  came  near  falling  a  sacrifice  to  his  temerity, 
whereupon  he  arrived  at  a  bold  determination.  He 
changed  all  his  property  into  money,  bribed  the 
guards,  and  had  the  good  fortune,  in  this  manner,  to 
liberate  both  the  condemned  from  the  prison  wherein 
they  had  been  confined.  Through  the  midst  of  the 
raving  mob,  he  conducted  them  unharmed  out  of  blood- 
begrimed  Paris. 

"For  love,  he  left  behind  him  his  political  career, 
and  was  counted  among  the  proscribed,  in  consequence 
of  which  he  did  not  dare  return  to  France. 

"In  one  of  Italy's  beautiful  valleys,  he  purchased, 
with  the  remainder  of  his  money,  a  little  villa  which 
he  placed  at  the  disposal  of  the  fugitives.  Here  he 
passed  his  days  in  their  company,  and  here  the  rescued 
girl  pledged  him,  under  oath,  her  eternal  fidelity — a 
love  which  only  death  should  sunder. 

"The  clouds  of  the  revolution  rolled  over  the  valley 
without  disturbing  them.  Antony  was  happy,  for 
love,  the  first,  that  warm,  youthful  love,  burned  in  his 
soul,  and  the  phantoms  of  ambition  that  had  formerly 
filled  it  faded  away  and  disappeared. 

"At  his  Mathilda's  side,  he  wandered  in  the  dark 
green  shade  of  the  myrtles  that  adorn  the  charming 
banks  of  the  Arno.  The  girl,  bound  to  him  by  a  tie 
of  gratitude,  thought  herself  too  young  yet  to  be  com- 
mitted to  another  and  more  tender  tie. 

"Agreeable  to  her  own  and  her  father's  wishes,  An- 
tony awaited  impatiently  her  eighteenth  year  when 
he  might  lead  her  to  the  altar. 


282  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Robespierre  had  fallen.  The  Reign  of  Terror  had 
ceased  in  France.  A  quieter  period  succeeded.  And 
the  proscribed  citizens,  for  the  most  part,  returned  to 
their  fatherland  and  possessions.  Mathilda's  father, 
with  his  daughter  and  prospective  son  in-law,  could 
now  also  return  to  Paris,  and  his  great  wealth  having 
been  restored  to  him,  he  was  put  in  a  position  to  re- 
sume his  former  place  in  the  social  world.  Mathilda 
ripened  every  day  to  greater  beauty,  and  soon  her 
father's  salon  was  filled  with  young  men  of  fashion  in 
competition  for  her  hand.  She  remained  a  long  time 
true  to  her  rescuer  and  her  vows,  however,  and  de- 
clined on  his  account  even  the  most  flattering  offers. 
Antony,  on  his  side,  more  fiercely  in  love  than  ever, 
impatiently  counted  the  days  that  now  remained  before 
the  time  when  he  might  call  her  his. 

"It  approached  with  long  strides.  Soon  only  a  few 
months  intervened  until  the  bans  should  be  published. 
But  before  that  day  arrived,  something  happened  that 
immediately  dissipated  all  of  Antony's  plans,  and 
threw  him  into  the  depths  of  despair  and  rage. 

"A  traveling  foreigner  had  been  introduced  by  some 
friend  to  Mathilda's  father.  He  was  a  young  gentle- 
man of  rank  from  a  distant  northern  country.  En- 
dowed with  a  princely  fortune,  he  was  making  his 
grande  tour  of  Europe,  and,  like  all  other  tourists,  had 
determined  to  spend  a  winter  in  its  capital,  Paris. 
His  appearance  was  agreeable;  his  conversation  refined, 
witty  and  invigorating,  and  his  character  clean,  spot- 
less and  above  reproach.  All  these  excellent  qualities, 
rarely  enough  found  in  one  and  the  same  person,  and, 
besides,  augmented  by  great  wealth  and  the  accom- 
panying luxuries,  could  not  fail  to  make  a  deep  im- 
pression upon  the  young  Mathilda's  mind.  With  rest- 


AN    EPISODE  283 

less  jealousy,  Antony  marked  how  willingly  she  list- 
ened to  the  conversation  of  the- foreigner,  her  blush 
when  he  approached  and  her  embarrassment  when  he 
addressed  her.  The  young  man  also  seemed  smitten 
with  Mathilda's  beauty  and  lovely  grace,  and  the  more 
they  were  together,  the  more  Antony,  with  moody 
glance  and  crime  in  his  heart,  drew  aloof. 

"This  continued  for  some  weeks.  Count —  for  such 
was  his  title,  came  nearly  every  evening  to  the  hotel 
that  was  owned  and  occupied  as  a  home  by  Mathilda's 
father.  He  was  looked  upon  with  favor  by  the  old 
man,  who  little  suspected  his  daughter's  inclination, 
and  with  steadily  augmented  delight  by  the  latter, 
who,  every  time  the  count,  by  some  accident,  failed 
to  appear,  was  sorely  troubled  to  conceal  her  uneasi- 
ness. Meantime,  the  unfaithful  girl  wavered  between 
her  newly  awakened  love  and  her  covenant  with  An- 
tony. It  was,  however,  only  gratitude  that  now  bound 
her  to  the  latter,  and  the  shame  of  breaking  faith 
with  the  rescuer  of  her  father  and  herself  had  not  been 
entirely  effaced  by  her  growing  attachment  to  the  for- 
eigner. But  it  came  soon  that  her  passion  gained  the 
mastery.  One  day  Antony  surprised  her  in  the  arms 
of  the  count. 

"Why  should  I  here  be  diffuse?  You  ought  to  under- 
stand the  feelings  that  at  this  instant  convulsed  the 
young  man's  soul.  Deceived  in  his  dream  of  joy,  cast 
out,  ruined,  he  withdrew  in  a  condition  bordering  on 
insanity. 

"Some  months  latter,  the  marriage  of  Mathilda  and 
the  foreigner  took  place. 

"Antony  was  not  at  the  wedding,  but  stood  outside 
the  hotel  and  contemplated  the  young  bride,  radiant 
in  youth  and  beauty,  as  she  showed  herself  on  the  stairs 
for  the  gratification  of  the  curious  people. 


284  THE  PLAY  OF  PATE 

"Antony  pressed  forward  through  the  crowd.  His 
glaring  eyes  met  those  of  his  former  love  for  an  in 
slant.  The  dreadful  expression  therein  frightened 
her.  She  staggered  and  caught  the  happy  bridegroom's 
arm.  Thereupon  Antony  sprang  upon  the  steps,  bent 
forward  and  whispered  a  few  words  in  her  ear. 

"She  became  deathly  pale,  and,  with  a  loud  cry  of 
terror,  sank  senseless  into  the  arms  of  a  bridesmaid. 

"The  words  that  so  frightened  her  were  these: 

"'Delilah!  Tremble  for  my  revenge!  It  shall  pur- 
sue you  and  yours,  and  demand  bloody  recompense, 
though  you  hide  yourself  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 
No  mercy  for  you!  I  swear  it,  and  my  oath  will  not 
be  like  yours.' 

"This  terrible  oath  Antony  has  kept.  His  thirst  for 
revenge  could  not  be  slaked  even  though  his  threats 
and  hate  laid  the  ground-work  of  an  ever-consuming 
anxiety  in  his  former  love,  embittered  her  life,  and 
prematurely  opened  her  grave.  Antony,  who  now 
lived  only  for  revenge,  had  determined  that  the  curse 
upon  her  crime  should  reach  every  member  of  her 
family;  should  precipitate  her  children,  if  she  should 
have  any,  into  the  most  helpless  moral  destruction. 

"A  considerable  wealth,  which  the  death  of  a  rela- 
tive brought  into  his  possession  about  this  time,  facil- 
itated his  plans.  With  the  persistency  of  a  shadow, 
he  followed  the  newly  wedded  couple  as  long  as  they 
remained  in  France,  and  many  times,  in  the  mcst  ele- 
gant social  circles  of  Paris,  the  opportunity  was  given 
him  to  see  the  universally  popular  countess  pale  to 
deathly  whiteness  when  he  fastened  upon  her  his  fore- 
boding glance. 

"The  count  and  his  wife  finally  took  up  their  resi- 
dence in  a  little  villa  in  the  suburbs  of  Paris.  Here 


AN    EPISODE  285 

they  waited  for  the  accouchement,  for  Mathilda  was 
soon  to  become  a  mother. 

"Antony  disguised  himself  and  found  quarters  in  the 
neighborhood.  Mathilda's  child  was  a  girl.  On  the 
night  of  its  birth,  with  the  connivance  of  the  mid- 
wife, the  newly  born  child  was  exchanged  for  one  still 
born,  which  he  had  procured  from  a  peasant  woman 
near  by.  Fortune  favored  him.  Mathilda  believed, 
when  she  recovered  conciousness  after  her  severe  strug- 
gle, that  her  child  had  died  soon  after  its  birth.  She 
did  not  suspect  the  deception,  for,  as  you  know,  the 
child  of  the  peasant  and  the  count  are  alike  at  birth. 
Meanwhile,  after  rewarding  his  accomplice  for  her 
treachery,  and  binding  her  to  silence  by  a  terrible 
oath,  Antony  fled  with  his  prey. 

"The  dead  child  was  buried,  and  the  parents  shed 
their  tears  of  bereavement  upon  the  grave  of  their 
supposed  first  born.  Antony  now  went  to  Southern 
France,  where  he  busied  himself  with  the  bringing  up 
of  the  stolen  child. 

"'She  shall  indemnify  me  for  what  I  have  suffered,' 
thought  he.  'I  will  rear  her,  not  to  become  my  wife, 
but  my  mistress.  This  shall  be  the  first  link  in  the 
chain  of  revenge.'  And  he  burned  into  the  girl's  arm 
a  symbol  that  should  in  one  indicate  her  double  des- 
tiny. This  symbol  consisted  of  a  blood  red  rose  with- 
in the  coils  of  a  serpent.  The  rose  indicated  love, 
the  serpent  hate  and  cunning  artifice." 

At  this  point  in  the  letter,  Eberhard  felt  a  shudder 
dart  through  his  body,  his  legs  swayed,  the  cold  sweat 
broke  out  on  his  forehead,,  his  eyes  stared  specter  like 
into  the  darkness.  For  a  long  time  he  could  not 
muster  sufficient  power  to  continue  the  reading.  JJe 


286  THE     PLAY    OF    FATE 

now  saw  through  everything  and  was  horrified  at  the 
depth  of  crime  and  degradation  to  which  his  mother's 
faithlessness  and  Antony's  implacable  hate  had 
plunged  him. 

His  father's  murderer,  his  sister's — He  dared  not 
think  the  devilish  thought  to  its  conclusion. 

"It  is  impossible!"  muttered  he  with  quivering  lips. 
"He  is  deceiving  me.  The  prince  of  hell  himself  could 
hardly  go  so  far  in  infernal  hate.  He  lies,  the  scoun- 
drel!" 

Thus  the  count  sought  to  delude  himself,  though, 
upon  further  reflection,  he  was  compelled  to  abandon 
the  hope. 

That  his  mother,  a  year  before  his  own  birth,  gave 
birth  in  France  to  a  girl,  and  that  this  girl  died  soon 
after  coming  into  the  world — so  much  he  knew;  of 
Crispin's  love  for  the  deceased  countess,  he  had  even 
heard  rumors,  but  the  accompanying  circumstances, 
in  detail,  were  quite  new  to  him.  The  countess,  for 
obvious  reasons,  had  never  alluded  to  the  subject. 

Eberhard  had  therefore  thought  that  Crispin's  pas- 
sion was  of  a  transient  nature,  and  that,  without  ex- 
periencing considerable  pain,  he  had  been  cast  off  for 
the  richer  Count  Stjernekrantz.  So  much  greater  was 
the  surprise  of  the  terrible  narrative  contained  in  the 
letter. 

At  last,  the  count  summoned  strength  to  resume. 
With  difficulty  he  kept  in  check  the  multitude  of  pas- 
sions that  were  at  work  within  him,  and  proceeded, 
still  supporting  himself  against  the  table. 

"Collect  yourself,  Eberhard,"  continued  Crispin  in 
his  letter,  "for  at  this  point,  you  will  without  doubt, 
rush  into  fury  and  curses.  Collect  yourself,  my  friend, 
and  proceed  with  composure. 


AN    EPISODE  287 

"Angela  (such  was  the  name  given  to  Mathilda's 
daughter,  for  she  should  be  his  angel)  grew  up  under 
his  eyes  in  the  villa  in  Provence  where  he  dwelt.  She 
was  already  four  years  old,  and  her  uncommon  beauty 
promised  the  young  man  a  rich  return  for  the  faith- 
lessness ol  her  ungrateful  mother. 

"About  this  time,  an  accident  occurred  that  came 
near  wiping  out  all  of  Antony's  plans. 

"He  had  been  away  a  few  days.  When  he  returned, 
he  found  his  house  plundered,  and  the  little  Angela 
carried  away.  A  band  of  gypsies  was  suspected  of 
the  outrage. 

"Antony's  sorrow  and  rage  were  without  bounds 
when  he  saw  his  prey  thus  snatched  from  his  hands. 
For  many  years  he  pursued  the  most  untiring  but 
fruitless  search. 

"A  long  lime  thereafter,  while  passing  a  summer  in 
Toulouse,  he  one  day  saw  a  band  of  gypsies  march- 
ing past  his  windows.  Leading  them,  singing  Span- 
ish ballads  and  accompanying  her  voice  with  a  zither, 
was  a  little  girl. 

"Her  beauty  and  unusual  talent  attracted  Antony's 
attention.  He  commanded  that  she  be  brought  to 
him,  a  something  seeming  to  tell  him  that  he  had 
found  in  her  his  long-lost  foster  daughter. 

"His  suspicions  were  confirmed.  A  glance  at  her  arm 
showed  him  the  ominous  sign  which  he  himself  had 
one  time  affixed  there.  He  was  jubilant.  Angela 
was  found.  He  at  once  summoned  the  gypsy  chief, 
and  questioned  him  as  to  where  he  had  stolen  the 
girl. 

"He  at  first  denied  having  stolen  her,  but  upon  An- 
tony's threatening  him  with  the  power  of  the  law,  also 
demonstrating  that  the  child  belonged  to  him,  and 


288  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

stating  the  time  and  place  of  her  abduction,  the 
gypsy  ventured  no  further  denial,  but  relinquished 
Angela  to  her  former  owner,  was  forgiven  hie  crime, 
and  received  a  considerable  sum  of  money. 

"Angela  was  now  about  ten  years  old.  The  best 
teachers  were  procured  for  her,  by  whom  she  was  in- 
structed in  languages,  history  and  music.  Her  voice 
developed  to  a  richness  that  surprised. even  her  teach- 
ers, who  prophesied  that  she  would  one  day  become  a 
songstress  of  renown. 

"Antony  did  not  forget  his  own  plans,  however.  He 
early  awoke  in  the  child's  innocent  heart  a  passionate 
love  for  her  benefactor.  As  early  as  her  sixteenth 
year,  she  fell  upon  his  breast,  beautiful,  captivating, 
captivated. 

"In  the  same  Italian  villa  where  Mathilda  had  wan- 
dered at  his  side  in  former  days,  Antony  now  took  up 
his  residence  with  her  daughter,  his  beautiful  mis- 
tress. A  year  passed  in  love's  ravishing  intoxication 
as  in  a*  dream  Out  of  the  same  chalice,  Antony  drew 
balsam  for  both  his  love  and  his  hate.  The  serpent 
entwined  itself  with  terrible  and  destructive  certainty 
around  the  stem  of  that  luxurious  rose. 

"Angela  knew  nothing  of  Antony's  former  relation  to 
her.  She  was  not  aware  that  she  had  dwelt  under  his 
roof  before  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  gypsies.  She 
saw  in  him  only  her  deliverer  from  the  rude  and  ig- 
nominious condition  in  which  she  had  formerly  lived, 
and  she  rewarded  him  therefore  with  the  whole  of  her 
young,  warm  heart's  .undivided  affection. 

"But  Antony's  restless  soul  wearied  at  last  of  the 
inactivity  of  life  in  the  valley.  He  longed  for  new 
adventures,  and  to  follow  up  his  plan  of  revenge  to 
the  utmost.  He  had  uttered  an  oath  in  the  ear  of  his 


AN  EPISODE  289 

first  love.  He  wished  for  this  purpose  to  hunt  her 
•down  in  the  land  of  her  husband,  which  was  now  her 
own.  Procuring  a  position  for  Angela  in  the  theater 
of  Milan,  where  her  extraordinary  talent  soon  made 
her  the  chief  ornament  of  the  lyric  stage  of  that  city, 
he  departed  shortly  after  from  Italy.  When  he  sepa- 
ated  from  his  mistress,  he  addressed  her:  — 

"'Enjoy,  conquer,  drink  deep  of  pleasures.  I  give 
you  leave.  The  fidelity  that  I  demand  from  you  is 
fidelity  of  the  soul.  Preserve  it  for  me,  however  else 
you  may  bestow  your  favors.  I  shall  return,  and  if 
you  are  fortunate  enough  to  have  gained  the  highest 
pinnacles  of  fame,  do  not  forget  that  you  have  me  to 
thank  for  all.  Do  not  forget  that  it  is  I  alone  who  am 
your  master — to  whose  wishes  you  must  yield  every- 
thing.' 

"And  leaning  upon  Antony's  breast,  Angela  swore 
an  oath  of  obedience  and  fidelity  that  no  variations  of 
fortune  should  efface. 

''She  kept  her  oath. 

"'Now  to  the  north,'  said  Antony  to  himself.  'Ma- 
thilda, I  will  crush  you  as  the  storm  ravages  a  rlower. ' 

"But  death  had  already  called  Mathilda  to  the  grave 
when  he  arrived  at  her  home.  Sorrow,  repentance  and 
the  torment  of  conscience  had  prematurely  gnawed 
away  her  life.  She  had  left  behind  her,  however,  a 
son,  a  boy  of  sixteen. 

"You  know  the  rest,  Eberhard. 

"You  know  how  Antony,  at  the  foot  of  the  faith- 
less one's  grave,  slowly  but  surely  instilled  the  poi- 
son of  the  teacher  into  the  heart  of  the  pupil.  You 
know,  too,  how  he  systematically -undermined  the  faith 
of  the  youth  in  the  beautiful,  the  good,  the  holy;  how 
he  initiated  him  into  the  heretical  systems  of  Voltaire 


THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

and  Diderot;  how  he  sowed  the  seeds  of  sin  in  his 
unsuspecting  soul ;  awoke  and  stimulated  the  slumber- 
ing passions,  and  above  all,  how  he  nourished  and 
kept  alive  the  bitterness  that  had  already  arisen  in  the 
boy's  breast  against  the  author  of  his  being,  his  just 
though  austere  father. 

"But  when  the  latter  mistrusted  the  insidious  and 
hurtful  influence  of  the  foreigner,  Antony  was  torced 
to  leave  the  north.  The  evil  had  taken  root,  neverthe- 
less, and  was  incurable.  Its  seeds  have  sprung,  up 
and  borne  fruit. 

"Some  years  later,  fate  brought  the  teacher  and  pu- 
pil together  again.  The  latter  was  then  traveling, 
after  his  father's  death,  as  a  grand  seigneur  through 
Europe.  Antony  again  became  his  companion,  his 
friend,  his  teacher.  He  followed  him  a  second  time 
to  the  north,  and,  later,  when  the  count's  restless  soul 
would  not  be  comforted  at  home,  Antony  wandered 
anew  with  him  through  Germany,  France,  Italy,  and 
the  orient. 

"Antony,  his  means  having  already  been  exhausted, 
lived  like  a  prince  at  the  expense  of  his  superabund- 
antly wealthy  friend.  He  shared  his  pleasures,  en- 
couraged his  extravagances,  his  vices,  his  crimes,  and 
if  at  any  time  a  spark  of  repentance  asserted  itself, 
his  traveling  companion  was  alwaj's  ready,  with  long 
and  profound  deductions,  to  demonstrate  the  absurdity 
of  the  struggle  of  mankind  against  fate;  that  is  to  say, 
against  human  passions,  and  in  consequence  thereof, 
the  absurdity  of  all  compunction. 

"It  was  during  their  residence  in  Italy  that  the  young 
count  heard  and  saw  Angela,  now  one  of  the  most  fa- 
mous of  Europe's  singers.  A  violent  passion  was  ere 
long  ablaze  in  his  breast,  and  the  beautiful  girl  soon 


AN   EPISODE  291 

reckoned  him  among  her  most  ardent  adorers.  Antony 
saw  it.  A  demoniacal  smile  curled  his  lips.  He  said 
nothing,  but  allowed  fate  to  take  her  course.  Then 
the  furies  of  revenge  exulted  within  his  soul.  Tri- 
umphantly he  burst  out,  'Mathilda,  look  at  your  chil- 
dren! 

"I  will  here  close  my  narrative,  Eberhard.  You 
know  the  rest.  You  have  seen  how  the  father's  mis- 
deeds are  visited  upon  the  child  a  hundredfold.  •  I 
cannot  help  it.  I  have  merely  revenged  myself. 

"We  flee  from  your  country  after  plundering  you, 
not  alone  of  your  gold,  but  even  also  of  your  peace 
of  mind.  I  hate  you  no  longer.  And  if  I  have  done 
you  irreparable  harm,  think  what  I  myself  have 
suffered. 

"You  may  object,  'I  am  not  responsible,  the  fault 
was  my  mother's.  I  have  treated  you  as  a  friend,  I 
have  given  you  my  confidence,  and  you  have  repaid 
me  with  treachery,  have  plunged  me  and  my  unknown 
sister  into  the  deepest  degradation.' 

"If  you  say  this,  Eberhard,  I  must  acknowledge  that 
you  are  right,  but  I  will  add,  do  not  blame  me,  but 
fate. 

"There  goes  through  the  world  a  merciless,  irrecon- 
cilable genius.  The  Greeks  called  it  Nemesis,  the 
Christians  named  it  retribution.  I  have  been  that  di- 
vinity's instrument,  Eberhard.  Can  I  help  it?  I  have 
determined  that  my  revenge  should  attain  to  the  ut- 
most. I  did  not  expect  my  hate  to  reach  a  limit,  Eb- 
erhard. I  feel,  however,  at  this  instant,  that  it  is  ap- 
peased. As  an  earnest  thereof,  I  will  say  a  few  words 
to  you,  which  you,  least  of  all,  should*  expect  to  hear 
from  me.  Hitherto,  in  my  conversation  with  you,  I 
have  absolutely  denied  the  possibility  of  atonement. 


2Q2  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

I  have  done  it  to  complete  my  revenge-  to  snatch 
every  hope,  every  prospect  of  reformation  from  you, 
but  I  did  not  utter  my  honest  convictions.  As  confi- 
dently as  I  believe  in  the  inexorable  law  of  retribution, 
in  the  Greek  Nemesis,  I  as  confidently  believe  in  the 
possibility  of  atonement.  There  is,  however,  no 
atonement  without  suffering.  Yours  has  been  deep, 
terrible.  Your  crimes  weigh  you  to  the  ground.  Your 
passions  have  ravaged  your  soul  as  lava  from  a  volcano 
ravishes  a  valley.  To  make  amends  will  be  difficult, 
but  not  impossible,  I  do  not  deny  it.  A  useful  and 
earnest  industry  will  save  you,  it  maybe,  from  despair 
and  insanity.  I  have  talked  with  you,  heretofore, 
only  of  pleasure.  That  I  speak  to  you  now  of  work 
arises  from  that  I  have  almost  come  to  pity  your  fate, 
for,  I  repeat,  my  hate  is  appeased. 

"And  now  farewell,  Eberhard.  Do  not  endeavor  to 
find  me.  It  will  be  useless.  Bury  what  I  have  re- 
vealed to  you  in  the  depths  of  your  breast  and  destroy 
my  letter.  We  shall  never  meet  again. 

"Angela  will  no  longer  appear  as  a  songtress.  She 
shall  follow  me  to  whatever  corner  of  the  world  I  may 
choose  to  take  her.  Her  heart  belongs  to  me  abso- 
lutely. You,  she  has  never  loved.  Farewell. 

"ANTONY  CRISPIN." 

After  completing  the  perusal  of  this  letter,  Eberhard 
sank  down  upon  a  sofa  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands.  He  sat  thus  for  a  long  time  while  the 
most  furious  agitation  of  mind  was  at  work  within 
him,  almost  threatening  to  choke  him.  At  length  he 
rose  hastily  from  his  seat,  grasped  the  heart  sickening 
letter  and,  tearing  it  into  a  thousand  bits,  trampled  it 
under  his  feet. 


AN   EPISODE  293 

"O,  you  devil!"  he  hissed  with  compressed  lips. 
"You  talk  of  expiation  after  you  have  hurled  me  into 
an  abyss  from  which  rescue  is  impossible.  My  father's 
murderer,  my  sister's  lover!  Caesar  Borgia,  you  were 
a  child  in  comparison! 

"'Reparation!'  he  says.  'Useful  occupation!'  Ha, 
ha!  He  knew  very  well  that  "those  words  would  only 
pour  oil  upon  the  fire  that  is  consuming  me.  He  knew 
that  he  would  throw  another  fire-brand  into  my  heart, 
that  he  would  awake  a  demon— 'Repentance!' 

"In  these  two  words,  'repentance  and  restitution,' 
uttered  with  affected  sympathy,  lies  the  consummation 
of  his  devilish  revenge.  He  would  sow  a  seed  of 
mistrust  in  my  soul,  mistrust  of  the  very  system  which 
he  himself  has  implanted  in  me,  the  system  of  disbe- 
lief and  cold  egoism  upon  which  I  have  heretofore  re- 
lied. He  would  undermine  it  in  order  to  hurl  me  into 
another  gulf, — despair.  Yes,  for  he  foresaw  that  such 
a  struggle  would  work  my  utter  ruin.  He  gives  me  a 
hint  of  the  necessity  of  repentance  in  order  that  I, 
for  whom  such  a  thing  is  impossible,  may  in  the 
knowledge  thereof  destroy  myself  with  a  fruitless 
struggle.  After  instilling  into  me  the  belief  in  materi- 
alism and  the  natural  sequence  of  things — after  laying 
a  foundation  upon  which  I  have  stood  securely  with  all 
my  burdens, all  my  crimes,  he  now  seeks  to  beat  it  from 
under  me  that  I  may  fall  a  helpless  sacrifice,  like  a 
ship  in  a  storm  without  a  rudder.  By  the  powers  that 
be,  he  shall  not  succeed!  The  foundation  is  firm,  firmer 
than  ever!  The  narrative  that  this  letter  contains 
is  a  further  demonstration  of  the  falsity  of  the  teach- 
ing that  our  religion  presents.  My  mother  was  guilty 
of  treachery.  .  She  was  ungrateful  and  perjured  herself.. 
Here  is  the  sequel.  The  curse  fell  upon  the  children 


294  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

because  of  the  mother's  crime.  The  innocent  were 
cast  into  the  deepest  mire,  the  daughter  becomes  the 
deserted  lover'  s  mistress,  her  son  becomes  his  father's 
murderer,  and  at  last,  unconsciously,  his  sister's  le- 
man.  And  there  is  a  God,  a  providence,  that  allows 
such  things!" 

Eberhard  was  silent.  With  uneasy  pace  he  meas- 
ured the  floor.  Finally  he  paused  and  resumed: 

"I  am  deserted  by  the  only  ones  I  ever  loved.  So 
be  it.  I  will  go  my  course  alone,  and  woe  to  them 
who  come  in  my  way  !  But  all  is  not  yet  lost.  The 
fugitives  may  be  found.  I  will  try." 

Eberhard  looked  out  through  the  window.  Day  was 
already  breaking.  He  grasped  the  bell -cord  and  rang. 

In  a  few  minutes  a  servant  entered. 

"Order  a  carriage!."  exclaimed  the  count.  "I  shall 
leave  here  in  half  an  hour. ;I 

The  servant  bowed  and  retired. 


CHAPTER     VII 

THE   DEATH  BED 

While  this  was  transpiring  at  Odensvik,  an  entirely 
different  scene  was  being  enacted  in  the  deserted  hut 
whither  Mrs.  Sterner  had  been  borne  by  Jacob  Kron 
and  Maurits. 

The  wound  inflicted  by  the  hoof  of  the  count's  horse 
was  in  itself  of  little  significance,  but  the  fall  and 
shock  had  caused  a  hemorrhage  that  soon  threatened 
to  sap  her  little  remaining  life. 

Pastor  Bergholm  had  been  sent  for  and,  as  soon  as 
he  could  dispatch  a  messenger  after  a  doctor,  he  had 
hastened  to  the  dying  woman's  side,  fearing  that  to 
remove  her  from  the  place  where  she  was  then  lying 
would  augment  the  danger  of  her  condition.  The 
good  pastor  commanded  that  various  articles  of  com- 
fort be  brought  her,  whereby  she  was  provided  with 
bedding  and  warm,  nourishing  food.  The  broken 
window  was  then  repaired  so  that  the  chill  night  air 
was  in  a  meaasure  shut  out,  and  in  the  fireplace  a 
glowing  fire  was  soon  ablaze  which  lighted  and  warmed 
the  dingy  room. 

When  the  pastor  had  seen  his  commands  executed, 
and  his  patient  as  comfortable  as  possible,  to  further 
alleviate  the  sufferings  of  the  sick  woman,  if  might  be, 
he  remained  until  late  in  the  night  in  the  miserable 
hut  which  seemed  in  momentary  danger  of  falling 
down  upon  them.  •  With  the  dying  woman's  hand  in 
his,  he  sat  at  her  bedside  speaking  words  of  peace 

295 


296  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

and  comfort,  and  the  sick  woman  smiled,  her  sightless 
eyes  directed  toward  heaven,  as  if  with  her  inner  sight 
she  could  see  the  figure  of  her  dreams  floating  over 
her.  Her  other  hand  rested  on  Maurits'  head.  He, 
bending  low  in  extreme  pain,  laid  his  head  on  her 
bed. 

In  a  corner  of  the  room,  wholly  concealed  by  the 
darkness,  crouched  Jacob  Kron,  who,  having  industri- 
ously acted  the  part  of  messenger,  was  still  almost 
unnoticed  by  the  others. 

After  the  pastor  had  talked  long  concerning  spirit- 
ual matters,  and  after  promising  her  that  in  the  event 
of  her  death  he  would  be  the  guardian  of  her  child, 
the  blind  mother,  who  at  first  showed  signs  of  distress 
and  anxiety,  seemed  to  be  at  ease  and  contented. 

"God  be  praised,"  she  whispered  faintly.  "Youf 
promise  has  taken  the  thorns  from  my  death-bed.  My 
son  will  not  be  entirely  alone  in  the  world.  He  will 
have  a  faithful  friend  in  you.  Is  it  not  so?" 

"Yes,  yes,  poor  woman,"  said  the  pastor  with  feel- 
ing. "I  will  not  abandon  him.  I  promise  you  that. 
The  pot  that  boils  for  four  can  easily  be  made  to  boil 
for  five.  Your  son  shall  have  a  home  under  my  roof. 
I  am  poor,  but  God  will  help  me  in  my  good  en- 
deavor." 

"You  are  the  good  angel  of  the  poor  and  bereaved, 
noble  friend  of  mankind,"  said  the  mother,  pressing 
his  hand  weakly.  "God  will  reward  and  bless  you 
and  your  children." 

"But,"  she  continued,  "I  have,  through  our  man}' 
years  of  want  and  suffering,  saved  a  little  sum  of  money 
for  my  son.  It  is  all  that  remains  of  my  former  pros- 
perity, the  receipts  from  a  few  articles  of  luxury  given 
me  by  my  husband.  It  is  in  an  envelope  in  one  of 


THE   DEATH-BED  2Q7 

the  drawers  of  my  bureau,  and  by  its  side  lies  another 
of  greater  value.  These  two  packages  I  wish  you 
would  have  brought  here  before  1  die.  The  bureau, 
as  you  know,  is  at  the  parsonage,  and  I  have  the  key 
here.  " 

"You  have  saved  a  sum  of  money  for  your  son!" 
cried  the  pastor  in  astonishment,  "and  that  through 
these  long  years  of  need  and  misery,  without  being 
tempted  to  make  use  of  it!  O,  mother's  heart! 
Mother's  love!  Stronger  than  death!  You  see  even 
beyond  the  grave,  Mightier  than  misery,  you  sustain 
the  burdened  heart  through  the  most  cruel  struggles." 

"Herr  Pastor,"  interrupted  the  sick  woman,  "will 
you  have  brought  here  the  two  packages,  and  a  little 
gold  ring  with  a  blue  stone  setting  that  lies  in  the 
same  drawer,  now  the  only  memento  left  me  from 
him?  " 

"I  will  go  after  them  at  once,"  said  the  pastor  ris- 
ing. "It  will  not  be  long  until  my  return.  Give  me 
the  key. " 

Mrs.  Sterner  unfastened  the  key  which  hung  around 
her  neck,  and  handed  it  to  the  pastor. 

"Will  you  go  this  evening,  pastor?"  said  she.  "Is 
it  not  already  late?  It  seems  as  if  I  had  passed  many 
hours  here." 

"Hours  of  pain  are  long,  my  daughter,"  said  the 
pastor.  "It  is  still  day,  however.  It  lacks,  at  least, 
two  hours  of  sunset." 

The  pastor  took  his  hat  and  was  about  to  go.  When 
he  reached  the  door,  he  paused  suddenly  and  ex- 
claimed : 

"Before  I  go,  I  wish  to  know  more  in  detail  the 
circumstances  of  this  unfortunate  accident.  That  you 
were  run  down  and  trampled  by  a  horse,  so  much  I 
know,  but  who  was  the  horseman?" 


2QO  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Mrs.  Sterner.  "I  have  not 
thought  to  ask  since  I  became  conscious.  Maurits 
may  know  how  it  occurred." 

"You  were  ridden  down,  mother,"  said  the  boy  sob- 
bing. "There  were  two  horsemen.  He  whose  horse 
went  over  you  was  our  former  master,  the  count  at 
Odensvik. " 

"Whom  did  you  say,  my  child!"  cried  the  woman, 
rising  hastily  in  her  bed,  "who  was  it? 

"Count  Stjernekrantz!11  exclaimed  the  pastor,  who 
had  not  observed  Mrs.  Sterner's  agitation;  "and  he 
rode  on,  paying  no  attention  to  the  accident?" 

"Yes,"  said  Maurits,  bitterly,  "he  had  not  time. 
He  was  out  hunting  with  a  great  party." 

"O,  God,  thy  ways  are  beyond  comprehension!  " 
muttered  the  sick  woman,  a  convulsive  trembling 
passing  through  her  frame.  "Ridden  down  by  him! 
Trampled  to  death  by  his  horse!  Great  God!" 

With  hands  joined,  she  sank  back  upon  her  couch. 
Her  lips  moved.  She  prayed  for  her  murderer,  per- 
haps. 

"It  is  inhuman!  Ir  burst  forth  the  pastor  in  righteous 
indignation.  "I  will  go  to  that  graceless  scamp  and 
read  him  a  lecture  from  the  law.  He  seems  to  be 
wholly  calloused.  Without  a  blush,  he  lives  openly 
with  a  concubine  whom  he  brought  with  him  from 
abroad,  and,  while  planning  banquets  and  merry  mak- 
ings for  her  pleasure,  a  poor  woman  whom  he  first 
hunted  from  her  home  is  now  here  dying,  murdered 
by  him.  It  is  scandalous,  abominable!" 

The  pastor  departed  muttering. 

A  deep  silence  ensued,  interrupted  only  by  Maurits' 
sobs.  Mrs.  Sterner  made  an  effort  to  speak  to  him? 
to  consols  him,  but  she  felt  herself  too  weak  for  the 


THE   DEATH-BED  2QQ 

effort.  After  some  minutes,  she  fell  into  a  quiet 
sleep,  while  Maurits  remained  kneeling  at  her  bedside. 
After  a  time  he  felt  a  hand  laid  upon  his  shoulder. 
Jacob  Kron,  with  silent  tread,  had  neared  him. 

"Boy,"  whispered  Jacob,  "your  mother  sleeps.  Fol- 
low me  out  for  a  minute.  I  have  a  word  to  say  to 
you. " 

Maurits  obeyed,  though  unwillingly.  He  would 
not  be  ungrateful  to  the  poor  man  who  had  shown 
him  such  kindness. 

"Maurits,"  said  Jacob,  when  they  had  reached  the 
open  air,  "I  wish  only  to  bid  you  farewell.  I  cannot 
remain  with  you  longer,  but  I  would  ask  one  favor 
before  I  go." 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?"  asked  the  boy. 

"You  have  a  trinket,"  answered  Jacob,  "that  once 
belonged  to  me.  Return  it  to  me,  for  its  possession 
will  bring  curses  and  misfortunes  upon  you.  To  me 
it  will  not  matter,  for  I  am  unfortunate  any  way — can't 
be  more  so. " 

"No,"  returned  Maurits,  "you  once  promised  me 
that  I  might  retain"  it.  Moreover,  I  have  become  its 
possessor  at  the  peril  of  my  life,  and  it  is  dear  to 
me." 

"But  it  has  cost  me  much  more,"  persisted  Jacob, 
"and,  too,  I  shall  need  it  in  a  few  years  when  I  expect 
a  plan  I  have  conceived  to  be  ripe  for  execution.  To 
me  it  can  be  of  service,  to  you  only  harm  and,  may 
be,  your  destruction." 

"Bah!"  replied  Maurits,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  "I 
do  not  believe  in  such  superstitions.  It  shall  remain 
in  my  possession  for  the  present,  at  any  rate.  If  at 
any  time  in  the  years  to  come  it  promises  to  be  use- 
ful to  you,  come  to  me,  let  me  into  your  plans,  when, 


3OO  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

if  I  approve  them,  I  will    restore    your    mother's    be- 
quest to  you." 

"Beware,"  said  Jacob,  "once  again  I  warn  you. 
You  do  not  know  the  whole  history  of  that  amber 
heart." 

"True,"  answered  Maurits,  "yet  I  am  not  childish 
enough,  should  misfortune  sometime  overtake  me,  to 
impute  it  to  the  possession  of  a  senseless  bit  of 
stone." 

"Do  not  say  that,  but  listen  to  me,"  said  Jacob. 
"That  singular  ornament  was  given  by  rny  father  to 
his  first  wife,  whose  initials  are  yet  to  be  seen  on  it. 
It  was  during  the  sunny  days  of  their  love,  as  the 
saying  goes.  The  young  wife  suspended  the  simple 
ornament  from  her  neck,  and  treasured  it  next  her 
bosom  as  a  token  of  her  husband's  affection.  This 
affection  was  of  short  duration,  however.  The  lady's 
tears  soon  bedewed  the  amber  heart  which  they  would 
have  easier  melted  than  the  heart  of  her  husband. 
That  my  father  is  a  man  of  violent  temper,  you  know. 
One  da)',  in  an  outburst  of  fur)7,  he  abused  his  wife  in 
the  presence  of  one  of  the  servants,  during  which  he 
tore  from  her  neck  the  silken  ribbon  confining  his 
present.  The  trinket  was  never  returned  to  her.  The 
lady  soon  after  died  broken-hearted,  and  the  amber 
heart  was  next  given  to  my  mother  for  whom  the  great 
man  had  suddenly  formed  a  passion.  The  rest  you 
know.  You  know  that  its  possessor  died  a  miserable 
death  in  the  poor-house;  you  know  that  her  son,  who 
then  inherited  it,  became  a  prey  to  misfortunes  of  all 
kinds  and,  finally,  you,  since  it  fell  into  your  hands, 
have  seen  your  hopes  shattered  one  after  the  other 
and  the  pleasant  dreams  of  your  boyhood  vanish 
into  nothingness.  Once  more,  give  it  to  me." 


THE    DEATH-BED  3OI 

"No,  Jacob,"  said  Maurits,  "in  spite  of  these 
gloomy  forebodings,  I  will  keep  it.  I  have  a  presenti- 
ment that  it  will  one  day  bring  me  good  fortune." 

"Do  you  still  believe  in  fortune,  poor  fool?"  said 
Jacob  compassionately.  "Have  you  not  found  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  happiness  for  the  children  of 
want?  Do  you  not  know  that  as  you  have  heretofore 
been  humiliated  you  will  continue  to  be,  certainly  as 
long  as  you  meekly  kiss  the  hand  that  smites  you?" 

"But  I  will  not  kiss  it,"  returned  Maurits  earnestly. 
"I  do  not  intend  to  remain  in  my  present  condition. 
I  am  resolved  to  carve  my  way  to  something  better. 
No  misfortune,  however  exasperating,  shall  swerve 
me,  deprive  me  of  courage  or  turn  me  from  my  pur- 
pose to  work  out  my  independence.  I  will  steel  my- 
self against  them.  I  have  so  sworn,  and  if  my  mother 
lives,  I  shall  certainly  succeed." 

"But  she  will  not  live,  boy.  She  will  be  dead  be- 
fore morning." 

"I  will  not  believe  it!  "  cried  Maurits  in  agony.  "I 
will  not  believe  it!  If  it  be  so,  I  will  die  with  her!" 

"And  thus  allow  her  murderer  to  escape  and  con- 
tinue his  diversions,"  added  Jacob  with  a  scornful 
laugh.  "No,  my  friend,  if  your  mother  dies,  live  to 
revenge  her  death." 

"The  law  will  revenge  me,"  said  Maurits.  "The 
murderer  must  surely  be  punished." 

"The  law!"  repeated  Jacob  scornfully;  "do  not  prate 
of  law.  Have  you  forgotten  the  wise  comparison  of 
the  Greek  philosopher:  'The  law  is  a  spider  web 
wherein  small  flies  are  caught,  but  the  large  gadflies 
tear  the  net  in  pieces  and  fly  their  way.'  The  heart- 
less count  who  rode  your  mother  down  with  so  little 
concern  about  the  consequences, will  be  fined  ten  riks- 


3O2  THE    PLAY    QF    FATE 

dollars  at  most  if  her  death  is  caused  by  the  accident. 
This  is  called  an  abundant  fine  for  the  accidental  kill- 
ing of  a  peasant.  The  law  punishes  only  the  cold- 
blooded murderer,  not  the  accidental  killing  of  a  per- 
son. The  court  will  net  concern  itself  about  the  indiffer- 
ence and  cruelty  manifested  by  him.  This  the  injured 
one  himself  must  punish." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Maurits,  "there  is  no  justice 
in  punishments  and  rewards  here  on  earth.  I  will 
live,  therefore,  to  be  revenged.  I  feel  within  me  a 
power  that  will  sustain  me  to  the  end,  even  though 
my  way  lead  through  the  utmost  poverty  and  priva- 
tions!" 

"And  you  persist  in  retaining  the  ornament  that  I 
claim  as  mine?"  asked  Jacob,  after  a  short  silence. 

"Yes,   you  have  no  right  to  demand  it.' 

"Very  well, keep  it  then.      Farewell!  ' 

"Where  do  you  intend  to  go,  poor  Jacob?"  asked 
Maurits  sympathetically.  "Have  you  no  home?" 

"No,   but  I  have  a  daughter,   and  I  go  to  seek  her." 

"A  daughter!" 

"Yes.  You  remember,  perhaps,  that  after  living 
with  my  wife  a  short  time,  I  discovered  her  perfidy, 
drove  her  from  my  door  and  myself  fled  from  the  re- 
gion where  we  had  resided.  I  have  roamed  the  world 
over  in  the  vain  effort  to  chase  her  memory  from  my 
mind.  Sometime  ago,  I  returned  to  the,  village  where 
we  dwelt  during  those  few  but  happy  months.  I  there 
received  a  letter  from  her.  She  informed  me  therein 
that  a  daughter  had  been  born  to  her  whom  she  had 
named  Helena.  She  affirmed  that  the  child  was  mine. 
Poor  and  despised,  with  her  new-born  babe,  she  had 
gone  to  Stockholm  to  seek  work.  She  importuned  me 
to  hunt  her  up,  not  for  her  sake,  but  that  of  my  child, 


THE    DEATH-BED  303 

which,  in  case  of  its  mother's  death,  would  be  left 
helpless  to  a  miserable  existence.  As  soon  as  I  had 
read  the  letter  I  hastened  to  Stockholm.  I  began  an 
indefatigable  search  which  I  continued  for  a  whole 
year,  but  ineffectually.  In  despair,  I  left  the  capital, 
but  I  shall  return  once  more  to  resume  my  quest." 

"Poor  Jacob,"  said  Maurits,  whose  compassion  had 
almost  made  him  forget  his  own  sorrow,  "how  do  you 
live?" 

"I  live  — by  my  work,"  said  Jacob  with  a  fierce 
smile;  "or  rather,  I  live  by  my  crimes." 

"Your  crimes!"  exclaimed  Maurits  with  a  suppressed 
shudder. 

"Yes,  the  public  has  made  me  an  outcast.  No  one 
will  open  an  avenue  to  me  whereby  I  can  gain  a  live- 
lihood by  honorable  means,  so  to  speak;  what,  then, 
would  you  have  me  do?  Starve,  maybe.  That  would 
be  the  most  proper  according  to  the  views  of  moral- 
ists who  will  not  allow  that  one,  even  though  he  be 
perishing  from  hunger,  may  steal  so  much  as  a  crust 
of  bread  from  the  children  of  luxury.  But  I  am  no 
moralist,  I  am  a  fatalist.  If  fate  has  ordained  that 
misfortune  and  crime  shall  be  the  lot  of  one,  and  pros- 
perity and  virtue  that  of  another,  it  is  neither  the  fault 
of  the  one  nor  the  merit  of  the  other  if  he  conducts 
himself  accordingly.  The  human  will  is  not  always 
sufficient.  So  much,  I  think,  I  have  found." 

"It  is,  then,  as  I  have  long  suspected!"  exclaimed 
Maurits,  turning  away,  "you  are  a  thief!" 

"Yes,  but  I  am  not  a  common  thief,"  answered  Jacob 
with  a  strange  smile.  "If  I  were  a  common  thief,  I 
would  not  go  in  rags," 

Maurits  contemplated  him  with  surprise. 

"Explain  yourself,"  said  he. 


304  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Listen  then,  my  boy.  I  have  a  theory  of  my  own 
on  the  subject  of  stealing.  If  I  break  into  a  room, 
for  example,  where  I  find  in  one  place  a  thousand 
dollars,  and  in  another  some  food  or  old  cast  off  arti- 
cles of  clothing,  I  do  not  disturb  the  money,  but  take 
the  food  and  clothes.  Do  you  think  the  ordinary  thief 
would  do  so?" 

"No,  he  would  take  only  the  money." 

"Yes,"  resumed  Jacob,  "and  I  do  not.  But  you  shall 
hear  why.  Theft,  for  the  sake  of  theft  alone,  I  look 
upon  as  wrong  and  shameful;  for,  if  a  man  who  has 
all  he  requires,  robs  another  of  his  property,  he  is  in- 
stigated by  covetousness,  and  a  desire  for  gain,  both 
of  which  passions  are  contrary  to  the  human  instinct 
that  commands  us  to  respect  the  rights  of  others.  But 
if  a  person  who,  notwithstanding  his  many  struggles 
to  support  himself  in  an  honorable  manner,  is  repro- 
bated by  the  public,  frowned  upon  by  all  mankind,  de- 
spised, shown  the  door  and  kicked  out  by  all — if  such 
a  person,  I  say,  to  appease  his  hunger,  appropriates  a 
few  crumbs  from  the  sumptuously  filled  larders  of  the 
rich  — mark  well,  of  the  rich  only — he  is,  in  my  opin- 
ion, reprehensible  only  so  far  as  he  takes  more  than 
he  actually  needs  to  sustain  life.  Moreover,  he  steals 
only  that  which  is  necessary  for  bodily  support;  he 
has  merely  indemnified  himself  for  the  public  injustice 
which  first  branded  him  with  dishonor,  and  then 
closed  against  him  every  avenue  to  uprightness. 
Therefore,  I  have  always  been  careful  not  to  take 
mpre  than  my  necessities  demanded.  Therefore,  if  I 
find  a  whole  and  a  ragged  coat  hanging  together,  I 
leave  the  whole  and  take  the  ragged  one;  for  I  regard 
myself  as  having  no  right  to  the  first  if  the  other  is 
sufficient  to  shield  me  from  the  cold.  Such  is  my 
theory.  What  do  you  say  to  it?" 


THE    DEATH   BED  305 

"Many  arguments  might  be  employed  in  opposition," 
replied  Maurits.  ."First  and  foremost,  were  it  possible 
that  through  the  sympathy  of  kind  people  you  might 
be  provided  with  everything  that  you  actually  need — " 

"Sympathy!"  interrupted  Jacob  fiercely.  "Do  you 
think  that  I  have  not  even  tried  that?  Can  you  not 
believe  that  I  was  a  beggar  before  becoming  a  thief? 
Yes,  my  dear  child,  I  have  tried  both  their  sympathy 
and  their  charity.  But  when  I  asked  for  alms,  this 
question  was  fired  at  me  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
'My  dear  friend,  you  are  a  young  man,  wtyy  do  you 
not  work?'  'Because  I  cannot  work.'  'How  does 
that  happen?'  'Well, I  have  been  an  inmate  of  a  house 
of  correction.'  'A  house  of  correction!  God  protect 
me!  Get  thee  gone!'  Such  was  my  ordinary  experi- 
ence as  a  beggar.  In  my  despair,  I  saw  no  other 
means  of  support  but  theft." 

"But  you  receive  an  inheritance,"  interposed  Mau- 
rits. "You  owned  a  little  home  in  Westergothland,  if 
I  remember  rightly.  Why  did  you  sell  it,  and  what 
have  you  done  with  the  proceeds?" 

"Why  did  I  sell  it!"  exclaimed  Jacob.  "Ah,  my 
child,  when  misery  overwhelms  one,  and  drives  him 
to  the  verge  of  madness,  he  knows  not  what  he  does.. 
He  is  careless  about  the  consequences.  You  know  the 
circumstances  that  drove  me  anew  and  desperate  into, 
the  world.  I  have  related  to  you  the  story  of  my  wife's 
perfidy.  You  will  understand,  sometime,  how  I  suffered, 
when  you  will  not  so  readily  condemn  my  rashness. 
But  now,  farewell!" 

The  unfortunate  man  extended  his  hand  to  Maurits. 

Notwithstanding  he  knew  it  to  be  stained  with  crime 
Maurits  did  not  shrink  from  taking  it,  and  grasping 
it  with  friendly  sympathy. 


306  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Farewell,  poor  man!"  said  he.  "May  your  search 
be  rewarded,  and  may  it  bring  tranquillity  to  your 
soul!" 

Jacob  did  not  respond,  but  drawing  his  hat  far  down 
over  his  eyes,  turned  and  was  soon  lost  in  the  distance. 

"Strange  fate!  "  muttered  Maurits,  "that  continually 
puts  that  man  in  my  path.  What  do  you  mean  by  it?" 

A  friendly  voice  here  interrupted  his  meditations, 
and  a  hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Here  I  am  again,  O,  puer  dilcctissime!"  said  Pastor 
Bergholm?  "How  does  it  go  with  your  sick  mother?" 

"She  is  asleep,  Herr  Pastor.  " 

"That  is  good;  she  may  yet  be  saved.  The  doctor 
sends  word,  however,  that  because  of  other  engage- 
ments, he  cannot  come  before  early  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

"You  are  very  kind,  dear  pastor.  Shall  we  not  go 
in?" 

"Yes,  surely.  I  have  here  the  two  packages  your 
mother  requested,  also  the  little  gold  ring.  We  will 
go  in  and  learn  their  history  if  she  is  awake." 

Mrs  Sterner  was  still  asleep  when  the  pastor  and 
Maurits  entered  the  hut.  They  seated  themselves 
quietly,  therefore,  at  a  little  distance  from  the  sick 
couch,  and  conversed  in  low  tones  until  she  should 
awake. 

At  last  she  moved.  Maurits  hastened  to  her  side, 
and  pressed  a  kiss  upon  her  pale  forehead. 

"Is  that  you,  my  son?"  asked  the  blind  woman 
faintly. 

"Yes,  mamma,  it  is  I.  How  are  you  feeling  now?" 
"Better,  my  dear.  I  shall  soon  be  well  again.  Has 
the  pastor  returned?" 

"I  am  here,  my  good  woman,"  said  he,  advancing  to 


THE    DEATH-BED  307 

tli3  bedsids,  "and  I  have  hsre  the  two  packages,  also 
the  gold  ring  you  bade  me  bring." 

"Thank  you,"  resumed  the  sick  woman,  lifting  her- 
self laboriously  to  a  sitting  position,  and  pressing 
the  ring  which  the  pastor  handed  her  to  her  lips. 
"Thank  you  again,"  said  she;  "and  now  bear  witness 
to  my  last  wishes  " 

"Maurits, "  continued  Mrs.  Sterner,  "the  lesser  of 
these  two  packages  contains  a  small  sum  of  money, 
which,  as  you  know,  I  have  saved  these  man)-  years 
for  you,  my  son.  I  have,  probably,  done  wrong  in 
not  investing  it  safely  and  in  a  manner  to  increase  it. 
But,  ah,  I  feared  I  might  lose  the  little  treasure, 
the  all  I  have  to  leave  you  as  an  inheritance  in  case 
of  my  death  before  the  completion  of  your  education. 
You  may  understand  my  fears,  Maurits,  even  though 
they  seem  exaggerated.  When  I  am  no  more,  Pastor 
Bergholrn  shall  take  charge  of  this  money,  and  expend 
it  for  you  as  he  thinks  best.  I  hope  you  will  not  be 
extravagant  with  it,  but  think  of  your  poor  mother, 
who,  in  spite  of  her  great  need,  saved  it  for  you,  like 
the  beggar  who  hid  the  diamonds  among  his  rags. 
You  promise  me  this,  my  darling?" 

"O,  yes,  yes!"  sobbed  Maurits,  "your  wishes  shall 
be  sacred  to  me,  mother/' 

"I  hope  so,  I  believe  so,  my  child.  But  listen 
further.  The  other  of  these  packages — the  larger — I 
leave  in  your  own  custody^  It  is  your  father's  testa- 
ment, and  may  one  day  be  of  consequence  to  your 
future.  You  are  not  to  break  the  seal,  however,  before 
your  twentieth  birthday.  Such  was  his  wish.  You 
will,  obey  it.  my  son?" 

"I  swear  it,  clear  mother!  "  said  Maurits  reverently, 
laying  one  hand  upon  his  heart  and  with  the  other 


308  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

receiving  the  package  his  mother  handed  him,  "and 
may  his  curses  overwhelm  me  if  I  violate  my  oath!" 

"Your  oath  is  sacred,  my  son,"  said  the  pastor. 
"He  is  a  most  miserable  wretch  who  would  violate 
the  pledge  given  to  a  dying  person." 

"And  this  ring,"  continued  Mrs.  Sterner,  placing  it 
upon  her  finger,  "this  ring  may  go  with  me  to  my 
grave." 

"Your  wishes  shall  be  observed  in  this,  mother. 
But  do  not  speak  of  the  grave — not  yet — you  frighten 
me. " 

"My  son!"  exclaimed  the  dying  woman,  and  a  bright 
smile  spread  over  her  face  on  which  the  hand  of  death 
had  already  put  its  stamp,  "do  not  weep.  We  must 
part,  but  we  shall  meet  again.  Evening  approaches, 
life's  dreary  evening.  To  me  it  is  sweet,  refreshing 
as  dew-drops  to  a  withered  rose.  I  have  suffered 
much,  my  child,  grant  your  mother  the  rest  that  only 
death  can  give.  But  before  I  go  down  into  that  quiet, 
where  my  warning  voice  will  never  more  lift  its 
sound,  I  have  yet  a  few  words  of  advice  to  give  you; 
yet  a  promise  to  request — no,  to  demand  from  you." 

"Speak,  mother,  I  hear  you." 

"Maurits,  you,  even  you,  as  young  as  you  are,  have 
experienced  life's  bitterness.  Over  your  childhood 
storms  have  raged.  You  have  seen  yourself  sneered 
at  and  despised  by  those  whose  station  was  above 
you,  the  rich  and  powerful,  those  who,  by  the  children 
of  poverty,  are  designated  the  fortunate.  I  fear— ah, 
I  have  long  feared — that  because  of  this  your  heart  has 
become  embittered,  that  dark  doubts  have  crept  into 
your  young  mind.  You  have  thought,  and  it  was  nat- 
ural that  you  should  so  think,  'Is  it  possible  that  there 
is  a  righteous  God  who  allows  us  that  are  good  and 


THE    DEATH  BED  309 

virtuous  to  languish  in  misery  while  the  bad,  the  hard- 
hearted, the  uncharitable  live  in  luxury?'  Tell  me, 
have  you  not  thought  so,  my  son?" 

"Ah,  mamma,  my  fellow  man  has  handled  me  rough- 
ly, and  you,  you  whom  I  love  more  than  my  life,  you 
die,  trampled  under  the  feet  of  our  oppressor's  horse. " 

"It  is  true,  my  son,  that  the  designs  of  the  Eternal 
are  often  incomprehensible  to  us,  seemingly  unjust. 
It  is  true,  too,  that  there  is  here  on  earth  no  apparent 
analogy  between  punishments  and  rewards.  But  what 
does  this  show?  The  young  man  who  so  carelessly, 
and  with  such  indifference,  allowed  his  horse  to  tram- 
ple me  to  death,  do  you  think  he  is  more  fortunate 
than  you?  Why  do  you  call  him  fortunate?  Because 
of  his  great  wealth,  his  rank  and  power?  Ah,  my  son, 
what  are  wealth  and  station  if  unaccompanied  by 
peace  of  heart,  by  the  soul's  inner  riches?^  Will  you 
renounce  God  because  he  has  distributed  his  treasures 
unequally  here  on  earth?  Then  glance  at  that  impen- 
itent rich  man's  heart.  There  is  a  canker  gnawing 
there  that  will  corrupt  to  the  end  of  time.  Therefore, 
my  son,  guard  against  false  reasonings.  You  know 
that  a  life  extinguished  here  is  not  ended.  The  wasted 
wick  of  the  candle  is  again  lighted  with  the  light  eter- 
nal. Why,  then,  should  the  little  troubles  of  life  lead 
us  to  doubt,  to  skepticism  and  sin?  Beware  of  them! 
Though  night  at  present  envelops  you,  you  know, 
nevertheless,  that  the  star  of  love  is  shining  beyond 
the  cloud.  Guard  against  the  erroneous  ideas  of  the 
fatalist,  of  blind  chance.  Such  beliefs  may  precipi- 
tate you  into  an  abyss.  Listen  to  a  mother's  voice, 
that  of  a  mother  who  has  lived  for  you  alone,  who 
loved  you  before  your  young  heart  opened  itself  to 
reciprocate.  Swear  that  you  will  never  turn  from 


3IO  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

the  faith  of  your  childhood,  from  the  path  along  which 
I  have  endeavored  to  lead  you.  Pledge  me  that  you 
will  be  true  to  uprightness  and  virtue.  Pledge  me 
that  you  will  never  hate,  never  seek  revenge,  and  that 
you  will  leave  vengeance  to  Him  who  justly  avenges. " 
Here  the  dying  woman  stretched  out  her  arms  toward 
her  kneeling  son,  and  her  sightless  eyes  seemed  to  be 
trying  to  penetrate  the  darkness,  to  once  more  scan 
her  darling's  features.  "O,  my  son,  promise  me,  prom- 
ise me  that  you  will  do  my  bidding.  If  you  would 
comfort  me  on  my  dying  bed,  promise  me  this!" 

"I  will  obey  you, mother.  I  will  strive  to, at  the  least," 
sobbed  Maurits,  deeply  moved.  "I  swear  to  you  that 
I  will  never  disgrace  your  memory  by  a  mean  act." 

"And  you  promise  to  love  your  brothers,  even  those 
who  persecute  you?  You  promise  to  be  kind  and  for- 
giving?" 

"I  promise  you,   mother." 

"Heaven  be  thanked!  I  can  now  die  in  peace.  I 
have  given  you  the  best  legacy  I  could,  my  child. 
Love  and  faith  are  life's  anchors.  Without  them,  man, 
like  a  ship  disabled  in  mid  ocean,  is  driven  helplessly 
to  destruction." 

The  sick  woman  ceased,  exhausted.  Maurits'  eyes 
were  fixed  in  silent  pain  upon  the  pale  face. 

"There  is  a  woman,"  muttered  the  pastor,  wiping 
away  a  tear,  "who  understands  how  to  suffer,  how  to 
love,  how  to  die.  Such  a  woman  needs  no  comforter 
of  the  soul." 

"Maurits,"  whispered  Mrs.  Sterner  with  failing 
voice,  "O,  if  I  could  but  see  your  dear  face  once  more 
before  I  die  but  all  is  dark.  Ah,  my  prayer  is  heard!  " 
she  suddenly  burst  forth,  by  a  great  effort  raising  her- 
self in  bed;  "praise  the  Lord!  Our  Father  in  heaven 


THE   DEATH-BED  31 1 

has  heard  my  prayer!  I  see  you!  I  see  you,  my 
child!" 

Surprised,  Maurits  met  his  mother's  glance  which, 
now  no  longer  obscured,  glowed  with  a  supernatural 
luster. 

"I  see  you!"  continued  Mrs.  Sterner,  throwing  both 
her  arms  around  her  son's  neck.  "God  has  sent  me 
my  sight  again  for  a  minute  in  order  that  I  may  take 
a  recollection  of  my  darling's  features  with  me  to  that 
distant  land.  Praise  the  Lord!  I  am  now  content. 
Farewell,  my  son,  my  son!"  These  were  the  last 
words  uttered  by  the  dying  mother.  Her  arms  let  go 
their  hold,  her  body  sank  back  lifeless,  touched  by 
the  deliverer's  hand. 

"She  saw!"  muttered  the  pastor.  "One  of  love's  mir- 
acles!" 

Maurits  heard  and  saw  nothing  more.  Beside  him- 
self in  pain  and  misery  he  could  only  press  the  cold 
hand  of  his  dead  mother  to  his  quivering  lips. 


PART  III 


CHAPTER  I 

A   POOR  STUDENT 

We  resume  our  narrative  four  years  later.  What 
happened,  meantime,  to  the  characters  that  have  ap- 
peared in  the  preceding  pages,  will  be  related  in  its 
proper  order. 

"Up  to  the  present  everything  has  gone  along 
smoothly,"  said  Maurits  Sterner  to  himself,  as  he  en-, 
tered  his  unpretentious  quarters  at  Upsala  and  threw 
a  bundle  of  books  upon  the  table.  "I  have  passed  my 
examination  in  Greek,  philosophy  and  history,  and  the 
professors  in  the  last  branch  have  accorded  me  the 
highest  praise.  Three  subjects  disposed  of.  Only  ten 
remain.  Ten  subjects,  bah!  I  can  get  through  with 
them  in  a  year,  I  hope." 

Maurits  took  down  a  tinder  box  and  lighted  a  can- 
dle, for  it  was  already  dark. 

"It  is  cold,"  continued  the  youth  in  his  monologue, 
"and  I  have  no  wood  or  wherewith  to  buy  it.  It  is 
extremely  hard  for  one  to  study  without  a  fire,  and 
still  more  so  for  one  who  must  write  as  I.  The  ink 
freezes  in  the  ink  horn,  and  the  ideas  congeal  in  the 
brain.  Never  mind,  to-morrow  morning  may  bring  a 
change  in  my  destiny.  To-morrow  morning!  Yes, 
my  twentieth  birthday  will  have  then  arrived,  and 
these  papers  which  I  have  carried  faithfully  next  my 
heart  for  more  than  four  years — my  dying  mother's 
bequest — will  no  longer  withhold  their  secrets  from 
me." 

315 


316  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Maurits  brought  forth  the  package  that  Mrs.  Sterner 
had  given  him  on  her  death-bed.  The  seal  was  still 
unbroken.  He  had  kept  the  oath  taken  in  his  boyhood. 

"I  confess  myself  exceedingly  curious,"  he  resumed, 
"but  I  must  curb  my  desire  yet  a  few  hours.  O, 
mother!  My  dear,  never -forgotten  mother,  look  down 
upon  your  son  at  this  moment!  Rejoice!  For  he  has 
kept  his  promise.  His  heart  is  still  pure.  No  base 
conduct,  no  extravagances  have  stained  his  character. 
He  has  been  sober  in  his  desires,  earnest  in  his  studies 
and  in  his  searchings  into  the  deep  well  of  truth." 

Maurits  seated  himself  and  sank  into  deep  reverie. 
He  was  no  longer  the  same  as  when  we  last  saw  him, 
bowing  under  a  burden  of  pain  at  the  bedside  of  his 
dying  mother.  The  fine  white  forehead  shaded  by  an 
abundance  of  dark,  wavy  hair,  the  clear,  expressive  feat- 
ures,were  still  present,  but  their  original  freshness  had 
disappeared.  The  roses  on  his  cheeks  had  been  driven 
away  by  night  vigils  and  cares,  and  an  expression  of 
firmness  around  the  mouth  showed  that  he  was  no 
longer  a  child,  hardly  a  youth,  but  a  man,  rapidly 
matured  by  life's  severe  struggles — one  who,  though 
just  counting  his  twentieth  year,  had  felt,  experienced 
and  thought  more  than  many  of  forty. 

Maurits  Sterner  was  not  visionary.  He  had  suffered 
too  greatly  for  that.  His  bent  was  serious,  mere  in- 
clined to  the  inner  life.  Early  initiated  into  the  newer 
philosophy,  he  had  there  found  a  rich  field  tor  the  am- 
bitious investigator.  Strong  feelings  slumbered  in  the 
depth  of  his  heart,  however,  and  smoldering  passions, 
not  yet  fanned  into  flame.  But  by  great  will  power 
he  had  succeeded  in  holding  them  within  the  limits 
staked  out  by  his  early  wisdom. 

As  faithfully  as  the  oyster  hides  the  pearl,  Maurits, 


A    POOR    STUDENT  317 

since  his  mother's  death,  had  treasured  her  memory. 
She  was  still  alive  and  ever  present  to  his  senses. 
Her  pure,  angelic  features  were  never  absent  from  his 
inner  vision.  She  was  his  conscience,  his  guardian 
angel  in  the  presence  of  temptation,  his  comforter 
during  sorrows.  The  scene  at  her  death-bed  had 
turned  him  from  the  path  into  which  his  young  mind 
threatened  to  lead  him.  He  no  longer  doubted  the 
existence  of  a  Providence,  for  to  doubt  this  would  be 
to  doubt  her  existence,  to  doubt  a  reunion  after  death, 
and  that  he  would  not,  could  not.  The  fatalistic  seed, 
early  sown  in  his  mind  by  Jacob  Kron's  dismal  phi- 
losophy of  life,  and  that  later  had  nearly  taken  fast 
root  because  of  the  bitter  sufferings  of  his  youth,  had 
been  destroyed  in  their  incipiency  by  the  parting  words 
of  his  mother.  The  young  man  had  returned  to  the 
faith  of  his  childhood  as  he  promised  her.  He  had 
submissively  sought  the  Eternal,  and  had  found  him 
He  was  saved;  but,  ah,  not  all  the  children  thus 
thrown  upon  the  world  have  a  mother's  memory  for 
an  anchor. 

The  four  years  just  passed  had  been  to  Maurits, 
from  an  economic  point  of  view,  more  tranquil  and 
free  from  sorrows  than  the  preceding.  Through  the 
efforts  of  Pastor  Bergholm,  he  had  early  obtained  a 
situation  as  teacher  in  a  private  house  into  which  he 
was  received  as  one  of  the  family,  and  treated  with 
the  utmost  kindness  by  all  of  its  members.  Here  he 
established  himself  firmly  in  the  confidence  of  his 
employer,  and  when  he  judged  himself  prepared  to 
enter  the  academy,  he  was  permitted  to  take  his  two 
pupils  with  him,  and  so  went  through  the  first  year 
at  Upsala  without  trouble.  Unfortunately,  the  father 
of  his  pupils  died.  A  few  months  later,  the  widow, 


318  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

unable  longer  to  maintain  them  at  Upsala,  of  necessity 
took  them  home,  and  Maurits,  who  thus  saw  himself 
deprived  of  this  support,  was  now  compelled  to  draw 
upon  the  money  left  him  by  his  mother,  which,  up  to 
the  present,  had  remained  untouched  in  the  care  of 
Pastor  Bergholm. 

By  careful  economy,  Maurits  had  managed  very  well 
thus  far,  but  his  means  were  now  exhausted  and  yet  a 
whole  year  remained  ere  he  could  complete  the  much- 
desired  academic  course. 

He  seldom  or  never  joined  in  the  daily  frolics  of 
his  schoolmates.  The  pleasures  so  alluring  to  his 
more  light-hearted  and  happy  fellow  students  possessed 
nothing  enticing  to  the  serious  delver  into  the  depths 
of  scientific  discovery.  His  comrades,  therefore,  re- 
garded him  as  a  visionary  day  dreamer,  and  after  a 
few  ineffectual  efforts  to  induce  him  to  change  his 
manner  of  life  for  one  of  more  cheer  and  gayety  they 
left  him  to  his  fate  without  giving  themselves  further 
concern  about  him. 

Maurits  read,  thought  and  investigated  with  the 
same  eagerness  that  had  distinguished  him  from  his 
early  boyhood,  and  that  caused  the  good  pastor  to 
more  than  once  exclaim:  "You  will  some  day  be  an 
honor  to  your  fatherland,  my  boy!  " 

Through  Pastor  Bergholm,  Maurits  had  received 
thorough  instruction,  not  only  in  the  classic,  but  even 
in  the  modern  languages.  This  stood  him  well  in  hand 
at  Upsala.  He  gave  lessons  in  English  and  Italian  to 
students  who  were  much  his  senior  in  years,  but  who 
had  not  before  had  the  opportunity  to  learn  these  lan- 
guages. These  lessons  were  just  now  the  young  man's 
only  source  of  income,  since  the  little  sum  inherited 
from  his  mother  had  been  consumed. 


A    POOR    STUDENT  319 

Early  accustomed  to  want,  Maurits  could  easier  en- 
dure the  deprivations  and  sufferings  that  poverty  im- 
posed upon  him.  He  never  complained,  not  even  to  his 
friend  and  teacher,  Pastor  Bergholm,  with  whom  he 
was  in  frequent  and  continuous  correspondence.  He 
had  inherited  from  his  mother  the  power  to  endure 
and  suffer  in  silence.  Like  her  he  declined  everything 
that  seemed  at  all  to  partake  of  the  character  of  alms. 
If  he  had  no  wood,  he  shivered  it  out  rather  than  ap- 
ply to  anyone  for  help.  And  to  keep  himself  free 
from  obligations  that  he  was  not  quite  sure  he  could 
discharge,  he  often  subsisted  for  da}-s  on  the  most 
meager  allowance  of  food.  In  a  word,  he  had  pre- 
pared to  fight  his  way  through  by  his  own  strength, 
with  which  he  felt  himself  abundantly  endowed. 

Although  Maurits  seldom  took  part  in  the  life  that 
was  astir  around  him,  he  was  by  no  means  entirely 
without  friends.  He  had  found  a  few  congenial  souls, 
and  the  most  intimate  friendship  soon  existed  among 
them  They  visited  each  other  frequently  and  ex- 
changed thoughts,  ideas,  and  shared  in  each  others' 
dreams.  For  even  Maurits  sometimes  dreamed,  as 
now,  resting  his  head  upon  his  hands  with  the  mys- 
terious package  before  him. 

Let  us  listen  to  his  thoughts. 

"This  room  is  cold,  dark  and  unpleasant,  but  what 
does  it  matter?  In  a  year  or  two  it  will  be  otherwise 
with  me.  My  will  and  my  genius  shall  make  a  way 
for  me.  The  laurels  of  the  kingdom  shall  be  mine. 
All  to  gladden  you  in  heaven,  mother.  If  I  freeze, 
if  I  hunger  a  few  years,  what  of  it?  Hope  shall  give 
me  courage  to  bear  it  all,  hope  of  a  future  shaped  by 
mystlf.  'Live  and  suffer,'  so  you  used  to  say,  mother, 
and  one  must  suffer  resolutely.  And  what,  indeed, 


320  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

are  these  privations,  to  which  I  must  now  submit, 
compared  with  the  sorrows  and  deprivations  of  my 
boyhood,  when  I  threshed  in  the  barn  in  order  to  get 
bread  for  my  blind  mother,  who  could  no  longer  sup- 
port herself  and  me.  Yes,  the  morning  of  my  exist- 
ence was  overcast  with  clouds.  Its  noonday,  its  even- 
ing shall  be  brighter." 

Here  Maurits'  meditations  were  interrupted.  The 
door  opened  and  a  young,  poorly  clad,  but  remarkably 
beautiful  girl  entered  the  room. 

"What  is  it,  my  child?"  said  Maurits,  regarding 
her  attentively. 

"I  came  to  make  your  bed,  sir, "  answered  the  young 
girl.  "Mamma  is  ill  and  can't  do  it  herself." 

"Ah,  you  are,  then,  the  daughter  of  the  good  woman, 
my  attendant?" 

The  girl  bowed  assent. 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"Helena." 

"And  you  say  your  mother  is  ill." 

"Yes,  sir,  she  has  the  ague." 

"Poor  child!"  said  Maurits.  "It  is  with  you  as  with 
me,  probably.  You  have  no  wood." 

"Exactly.      Have  you,   sir,  none  either?" 

"No,  but  in  the  morning  I  will  endeavor  to  get 
some  for  both  you  and  myself,  for  I  think  it  is  too  bad 
that  such  a  good  body  should  surfer.  Where  do  you 
live?" 

"In  the  last  house  in  Svartsback  Street,  back  in  the 
yard.  It  will  be  very  kind  of  you,  sir,  to  help  us." 

"I  will  visit  you  in  the  morning,"  said  Maurits. 
"How  old  are  you,  my  little  girl?" 

"I'll  be  fourteen  soon." 

"Were  you  born  here  in  Upsala?" 


A   POOR    STUDENT  321 

"No,  we  dwelt  first,  for  some  years,  in  Stockholm, 
but  moved  here  when  my;  mother  could  no  longer  get 
work  there. " 

"And  your  father,  does  he  live?" 

"I  have  never  seen  my  father,"  answered  the  girl, 
"and  my  mother  never  speaks  of  him,  though  I  some- 
times question  her  about  him." 

"Neither  has  she  ever  mentioned  to  me  that  she  had 
a  daughter,"  said  Maurits.  "Have  you  been  taught  to 
read?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  answered  the  girl  briskly,  'I  have  read  a 
great  deal.  When  I  was  nine  years  old,  I  was  adopted 
by  an  old  gentleman  who  met  me  one  day  on  the 
streets  of  Stockholm,  as  I  went  about  singing,  endeav- 
oring to  earn  a  few  skillings.  He  gave  me  beautiful 
clothes,  and  I  was  instructed  in  many  things,  but  in 
music  especially,  because  he  believed  me  to  possess 
extraordinary  talent  in  this  direction.  It  was  his  in- 
tention to  educate  me  for  the  stage.  He  wished  me 
to  become  an  actress,  he  said,  but  fate  willed  it  other- 
wise. About  three  years  after  my  adoption,  my  bene- 
factor died;  his  relatives  drove  me  away,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  return  to  my  poor  mother  quite  as  destitute 
as  before.  Later  we  moved  to  Upsala,  and  here  I 
have  been  compelled  to  dwell  in  a  wretched  hovel, 
instead  of  the  elegant  and  delightful  rooms  that  I  oc- 
cupied during  my  period  of  good  fortune." 

The  poor  girl  began  to  weep  bitterly  at  the  painful 
recollections. 

"Poor  child!"  thought  Mauirts.  "O,  why  am  I  not 
rich?" 

"You  can  sing  then,  my  little  Helena?"  inquired 
he. 

"Yes,  that  is  my  only  consolation  in  my  poverty." 


322  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"And  you  play  also?" 

"Ah,  I  had  a  guitar  when  I  was  with  my  benefactor, 
and  I  played,  it  was  said,  not  so  badly;  but  I  have 
none  now," 

"What  have  you  done  with  it?" 

"I  had  to  sell  it  last  winter  to  get  bread  for  my 
mother  and  me." 

"See,  here  is  one,"  said  Maurits,  getting  his  down 
from  the  wall,  for  even  he  was  something  of  a  musi- 
cian and  singer.  "Take  it  and  sing  for  me." 

"What  shall  I  sing?"  asked  Helena,  blushing,  as 
she  took  the  instrument  and  with  practiced  hand  struck 
a  few  chords. 

"O,  something  pretty,"  said  Maurits,  "your  favorite, 
you  must  have  a  preference." 

"Then  it  shall  be  the  'Alpine  Girl!'"  exclaimed 
Helena,  her  eyes  sparkling.  "Have  you  heard  it,  Mr. 
Sterner?  " 

"No,  let  me  hear  it." 

And  the  young  girl  sang:  — 

"Every  morning  an  Alpine  rose, 
I  fast  to  my  hat,"  etc. 

Maurits  listened  with  delight  to  the  exquisitely  clear 
tones  that  flowed  from  the  lips  of  the  poor  little  song- 
stress. Seldom  had  an  opportunity  been  given  him  to 
hear  a  more  charming  voice  and  he  lamented  that 
such  promising  talent  should  lack  the  advantages  of 
cultivation. 

There  were  many  verses  in  the  song  that  Helena 
sang, wherefore  a  considerable  time  had  elapsed  before 
its  conclusion.  Brighter  and  brighter  grew  her  eyes, 
clearer  and  more  thrilling  her  beautiful  notes. 

In  the  midst  of    this    scene,  the    door  to     the    little 


A  POOR    STUDENT  323 

room  was  suddenly  opened.   Two  persons  entered,  but 
halted  at  the  threshold,  dumb  with  astonishment. 

Neither  Helena,  transported  with  delight,  nor  Mau- 
rits,  lost  in  the  contemplation  of  the  blushing,  inno- 
cent child,  heard  or  saw  the  entrance  of  the  strangers. 
The  song  continued  for  some  time  without  an  inter- 
ruption. 

Finally,  one  of  the  visitors  made  an  involuntary 
movement. 

Frightened,  Helena  ceased,  while  Maurits  glanced 
hastily  toward  the  door. 

"Do  you  give  lessons  in  music,  Brother  Maurits?" 
exclaimed  one  of  the  new-comers,  a  tall,  slender  youth 
with  an  expressive  countenance,  and  a  noticeably  dis- 
tinguished bearing.  "By  my  soul.,  you  have  found  a 
pretty  little  pupil." 

Helena  blushed  deeply. 

"She  is  the  daughter  of  my  waiting  woman,"  an- 
swered Maurits  smiling.  "She  sings  like  an  angel. 
What  do  you  think,  Brother  Holm?" 

"By  no  means  bad,"  answered  the  person  addressed. 
"But  allow  me  to  introduce  a  young  countryman,  just 
arrived  to-day  from  Wermland,  who  is  here  to  be  ex- 
amined, and  says  he  has  a  letter  to  you  from  one  of 
your  friends.  Herr  Sterner,  Baron  Ehrenstani, "  said 
he,  presenting  the  young  men  to  each  other. 

Maurits  started  as  if  stung  by  a  serpent. 

"Ehrenstam!"  muttered  he  to  himself,  as  his  search- 
ing eyes  fell  upon  the  young  baron  who,  after  glancing 
haughtily  around  the  scantily  furnished  room,  re- 
sponded with  a  formal  bow.  "Ehrenstam!  Ah,  that 
name!  " 

Recovering  himself  quickly,  he  addressed  the  new 
comer  coldly: 


324  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Herr  Baron  comes  from  Wermland?" 

"Yes,"  answered  George,  now  a  tall  seventeen-year- 
old  scapegrace  of  careless  bearing  and  attired  in  the 
height  of  fashion.  "I  come  from  my  father's  estate, 
Liljedahl,  near  the  home  of  your  childhood.  I  have 
undertaken  to  deliver  a  letter  to  you  from  your  friend 
and  neighbor,  the  curate  of  the  parish.  I  believe  his 
name  is  Bergholm,  or  something  like  it." 

George  took  the  letter  from  his  pocket  and  handed 
it  to  Maurits. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Maurits,  taking  it.  "Please  be 
seated,  Herr  Baron." 

George  seated  himself  on  the  sofa  and  foppishly 
ogled  poor  Helena  who  vainly  sought  to  conceal  her 
blushes  and  her  embarrassment. 

"Great  Scott!  it  is  cold  here,  Brother  Sterner!"  ex- 
claimed the  shivering  Holm.  "Will  you  not  have  a 
fire  built?" 

"Certainly,"  answered  Maurits,  blushing  slightly; 
"but  the  fact  is,  it  was  too  late  when  I  arrived  here 
this  evening  to  buy  wood  in  the  market.  It  was  al- 
ready closed.  But  I  will  be  more  timely  hereafter." 

"A  bewitchingly  pretty  girl  that,"  muttered  George 
to  himself.  "In  a  few  years  she  will  be  a  beauty  of 
the  first  rank  if  I  am  not  in  error." 

Helena  left  the  room  for  an  instant  to  get  some  water 
for  the  carafe. 

"You  have  a  pretty  attendant,  Herr  Sterner,"  said 
George  carelessly;  "what  is  her  name?" 

"Herr  Baron,"  said  Maurits  with  gentle  irony,  "you 
who  are  so  rich,  if  I  am  correctly  informed,  that  you 
could  buy  half  of  Upsala,  here  is  an  opportunity  for 
j'ou  to  become  a  patron  of  the  arts.  Poor  little  Helena 
sings  well,  and  is  much  inclined  toward  the  stage, 


A    POOR    STUDENT  325 

she  informs  me,  but,  lacking  means,  her  development 
has  been  interrupted.  If  you  will  undertake  this, 
she  will  some  day  in  the  future  do  you  honor  without 
doubt.  There  ma)'  be  slumbering  within  her  the  germs 
of  the  most  brilliant  talents.  You  could  probably  make 
of  her  an  actress  of  the  first  rank,  renowned  over  all 
Europe,  and  you  would  share  her  honors." 

"  C^est'  possible?"  said  George  listlessly.  "I  am  of  a 
mind  to  make  the  effort.  Her  address?" 

Maurits  gave  it,  astonished  that  such  a  thought 
should  impress  a  youth  who  as  a  child  had  manifested 
such  cruelty  toward  him;  for  Maurits,  through  Pastor 
Bergholm,  had  learned  the  name  of  the  family  with 
which  accident,  during  his  childhood,  had  three  times 
brought  him  into  contact,  and  by  the  members  of 
which  each  of  these  times  he  was  so  badly  treated. 
He  did  not  suspect  hew  deeply  corruption  had 'already 
taken  root  in  George's  heart;  in  part,  the  outcropping 
of  his  naturally  bad  disposition,  in  part,  and  chiefly, 
because  of  the  unrestrained  license  permitted  by  his 
parents  and  the  lustful, dissipated  creatures  with  whom 
he  had  been  wont  to  associate  since  his  fifteenth  year. 
He  did  not  know  that  this  seventeen-year  old  stripling 
was  already  fully  initiated  into  all  .the  vices  of  the 
rich  without  possessing  any  of  their  virtues.  He  did 
not  know  that  George  had  already  passed  two  winters 
in  the  capital, where  he  had  thrown  himself  unbridled 
into  dissipations  of  all  kinds,  and  that,  although  only 
fairly  in  his  teens,  he  could  cry  out  with  Henri  de 
Vaudry,  "Except  murder,  theft  and  treason,  there  is  no 
crime  I  have  not  committed." 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  then,  that  Maurits  was 
deceived  in  George's  apparent  interest  in  Helena. 
How  should  he,  upright  and  of  spotless  character 


326  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

himself,  suspect  that  in  the  breast  of  the  titled  youth 
such  thoughts  as  these  existed:  — 

"The  outlay  of  a  few  hundred  dollars  on  this  little 
girl  will  be  a  good  investment.  In  a  few  years  I  shall 
receive  ample  return."  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that 
such  thoughts  could  possibly  have  birth  in  the  brain 
of  a  youth  just  completing  his  seventeenth  year.  On 
the  other  hand,  neither  could  he  account  for  the  sud- 
den interest  manifested  by  George  in  the  welfare  of 
the  young  girl,  remembering  the  exhibitions  of  cruelty 
and  heartlessness  displayed  by  him  in  his  boyhood 
He  attached,  therefore,  little  significance  to  George's 
utterances,  and  believed  in  reality  that  he  would  con- 
cern himself  little  whether  the  young  girl  lived,  cr 
died  of  hunger. 

Meantime,  George  drew  forth  his  memorandum 
book  and  wrote  down  the  address. 

"Do  you  really  mean  that  you  will  do  something  for 
the  poor  child?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  It  is  made  apparent  to  me  that  she 
is  endowed  with  special  talents,  and  I  am  earnestly 
disposed  to  afford  her  an  opportunity  for  their  culti- 
vation." 

"I  have  misunderstood  him,"  thought  Maurits.  "He 
is  not  so  heartless  and  egotistical  as  I  supposed. 
How  unjust,  at  any  rate,  to  judge  one  by  a  single 
incident  that  occurred  many  years  ago." 

"Herr  Baron, "  said  he  aloud.  "I  will  join  you  in  your 
commendable  undertaking.  I  will  instruct  her  in  read- 
ing and  the  other  common  branches,  if  you  will  attend 
to  her  musical  education  and  her  support.  You  rep- 
resent the  capital,  I  will  put  in  the  work.  Do  you 
agree  to  this?" 

"Yes,"  said  George,  casting    a  distrustful    glance  at 


A  POOR    STUDENT  327 

Maurits.  "If  the  girl  is  to  amount  to  anything,  she 
must  go  to  the  royal  theater  in  Stockholm,  where  I 
will  arrange  that  she  shall  be  received  as  a  pupil. 
Her  wardrobe  I  will  see  to,  so  that  she  may  make 
a  becoming  appearance." 

"But  she  ought  first  to  have  some  preparatory  in- 
struction," interrupted  Maurits. 

"This  she  has  already  received." 

"Yes,  but  not  sufficient. " 

"Very  true,  you  may  be  right,"  replied  George. 
"She  may  then  remain  in  Upsala  yet  a  few  months 
and,  if  you  will  instruct  her  in  reading,  I  will  see  to 
the  rest.  But  this  done,  you  must  leave  her  wholly 
to  me." 

"It  shall  be  so,"  cried  Maurits,  "and  if  I  am  not 
greatly  deceived,  our  protdge"  -will  some  day  do  us 
honor. " 

Helena  at  this  point  entered  with  the  water. 

"Hear  me,  my  girl,"  said  George.  "Come  here,  I 
wish  to  speak  with  you." 

The  timid  girl  approached  him  with  downcast  eyes. 

"Do  you  wish  to  become  an  actress?" 

"Ah,"  cried  the  girl  eagerly,  "it  has  always  been  my 
ambition  since  my  benefactor  took  me  into  his  family 
and  procured  teachers  for  me.  If  he  had  not  died,  I 
should  have  been  prepared  for  the  stage  already,  per- 
haps. But  it  is  past  now." 

"No,  no,"  said  George.  "If  you  convince  me  tnat 
you  possess  talent,  it  is  not  yet  too  late.  I  "will  take 
care  of  your  mother,  and  provide  a  more  comfortable 
place  of  residence.  You  shall  have  beautiful  clothes, 
the  best  of  food,  and  instruction  in  reading  and  music. 
In  a  few  months  you  shall  come  to  Stockholm,  where 
I  will  procure  a  place  for  you  in  the  theater.  What 
do  you  say  to  it?" 


328  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"You  must  be  jesting,  sir,"  said  she  finally.  "It  is 
very  unkind  of  you." 

The  poor  girl  began  to  weep. 

"Helena,"  said  Maurits,  "do  not  cry.  The  baron  is 
not  jesting,  he  is  in  earnest." 

"Go  home  to  your  mother,  my  child,"  resumed 
George.  "In  the  morning  I  will  come  to  you." 

Helena  went,  hardly  knowing  whether  she  was  awake 
or  asleep. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE      FRIENDS 

"I  must  go,  Herr  Sterner,"  said  George,  rising  to 
depart.  "In  the  morning,  we  will  discuss  the  affairs 
of  our  charge  in  detail,  if  you  will  honor  me  with 
your  presence.  I  reside  in  Vaksala  Street,  sign  of  the 
Bull,  second  floor." 

"Thank  you,    I  will  come." 

"And  when  you  write  to  your  priest  down  there  in 
Wermland  remember  me  to  the  funny  old  man,  really 
an  old  classic. " 

'How  are  his  daughters?"  asked  Maurits. 

"Well;  and  it  is  reported  that  my  former  tutor,  Mag 
ister  Holmer,  who  has  now  taken  to  farming,  is  a  lit- 
tle smitten  with  the  oldest.      It  looks  as  if  there  would 
be  a  wedding  there." 

"Magister  Holmer!"  exclaimed  Maurits,  and  the 
scene  in  the  baronial  chamber  and  the  East  India  tea- 
cups were  brought  vividly  to  his  mind.  "Has  he 
bought  a  farm?" 

"Not  bought,  but  received  it  from  my  father  for  his 
many  years  of  attendance  as  tutor  upon  me  and  my 
sister  Isabella,  who,  notwithstanding  she  is  baiely 
fifteen  years  old,  visits  him  daily  for  the  purpose  of 
studying  the  poets  of  France  and  Italy.  But  are  you 
acquainted  with  Holmer?" 

"Only  slightly,"  said  Maurits,  with  a  little  embar- 
rassment. "I  have  seen  him  once,  I  believe." 

"You  had  already  left  when  my  parents    moved    to 

329 


33O  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Liljedahl,  I  presume,"  said  George.  "I  do  not  recol- 
lect that  I  ever  saw  or  heard  of  you  as  a  child. " 

"My  mother  died  about  that  time,"  answered  Mau- 
rits,  "and,  too,  my  station  was  so  humble  that  it  was 
not  likely  I  should  attract  your  attention.  We  were 
very  poor,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  Pastor  Bergholm, 
I  should  most  certainly  have  had  to  forego  the  advan- 
tages of  an  education.  A  wotd  yet  before  you  go, 
baron.  Are  you  acquainted  with  Count  Stjernekrantz, 
of  Odensvik?" 

"Quite  well;  we  are  near  neighbors.  Now  I  call  to 
mind  an  observation  made  at  my  first  seeing  you. 
There  is  a  striking  resemblance  between  you  and  Count 
Stjernekrantz. " 

"Indeed!     You  are  joking." 

"No,  you  are  as  like  him  as  one  berry  is  like  an- 
other, except  that  he  is  more  sickly  looking.  He  is  a 
pretty  high  liver,  it  is  said.  But  why  are  you  inter- 
ested in  him?  Is  it  because  of  your  likeness  to  him?" 

"No,"  said  Maurits,  "it  is  wholly  of  another  sort.  Is 
he  at  present  residing  at  Odensvik?" 

"No,  he  is  usually  in  Stockholm  during  the  winter, 
when  he  lives  like  a  prince;  but,  in  the  summer,  he 
locks  himself  up  at  Odensvik,  and  may  hold  himself 
for  months  wholly  aloof  from  intercourse  with  the 
world,  except  an  old  servant.  He  is  a  very  strange 
being,  whom  no  one  can  understand.  He  is  most 
assuredly  oppressed  by  some  great  sorrow,  and  has 
endured  great  suffering." 

"Do  you  think  so?     He  is  so  rich." 

"Bah!  that  counts  for  nothing.  It  is  related  of 
Count  Eberhard  that  a  few  years  ago  he  was  in  love, 
almost  to  distraction,  with  a  beautiful  singer  whom 
he  brought  with  him  from  Milan.  She  was  only  a 


THE    FRIENDS  33! 

cunning  adventuress  who  deceived  him  and  ran  away, 
leaving  no  trace  of  the  course  taken,  and  who  has  not 
since  been  heard  of,  notwithstanding  the  count,  for 
nearly  a  year,  wandered  over  Europe  in  fruitless 
search  for  her.  He  has  been  very  melancholy  since 
then,  and  to  conceal  his  distress,  rushes  into  the 
wildest  pleasures  and  dissipations  every  winter.  His 
enormous  wealth  must  have  been  lessened  considera- 
bly in  this  manner,  but  the  count  pa)'s  no  attention  to 
this.  He  leaves  his  affairs  entirely  in  the  hands  of  his 
steward." 

"Herr  Sjoholm,"  interrupted  Maurits. 

"Exactly,"  said  George.  "You  are  acquainted  with 
him,  I  discover.  He  is  one  of  our  lions;  an  exceed- 
ingly interesting  and  poetic  being,  on  whose  table  one 
always  finds  some  of  our  newest  poets,  besides  samples 
of  brandy,  and  the  cottagers'  time-book.  The  count 
relies  implicitly  upon  his  steward;  but  it  is  generally 
believed  Herr  Sjoholm  is  feathering  his  own  nest  hand- 
somely. " 

"That  is  quite  customar)'  among  stewards,"  added 
Holm,  who  had  thus  far  been  a  listener  only.  "When 
you  come  into  possession  of  )rour  estate,  Brother 
Ehrenstam,  you  must  prepare  yourself  for  the  same 
fate." 

"Count  Stjernekrantz  has  no  thought  of  marrying, 
it  would  seem,'1  said  Maurits. 

"No,  Ahe  seems  to  abhor  the  idea  of  such  a  thing," 
said  George.  "My  father  proposed  to  him  some  time 
ago  that  he  should  wed  my  sister." 

"Isab — Miss  Isabella?"  interrupted  Maurits,  eagerly, 
playing  with  the  little  amber  heart  that  hung  from 
his  neck. 

"Yes,"  said  George  surprised.  "Have  you  ever  seen 
my  sister?" 


332  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"No,"  answered  Maurits,  with  apparent  confusion, 
"but  I  heard  you  just  now  mention  her  name,  and  the 
marriage. " 

"I  doubt  very  much  that  anything  will  ever  come  of 
it,  at  least,  not  for  a  number  of  years.  My  sister  is 
yet  too  young,  and  although  she  promises  to  be  a  re- 
markable beauty,  Count  Eberhard  has  not,  so  far 
as  can  be  seen,  been  particularly  attracted  by  her. 
To  tell  the  truth,  also,  she  has  given  little  evidence, 
when  the  count  has  visited  us,  of  being  very  much 
charmed  with  the  prospect  of  becoming  his  bride,  for 
she  seems  to  feel  an  aversion  for  him." 

"It  would  indeed  be  a  sin  to  wed  her  to  a  man 
whom  she  could  not  love." 

"Bah!  A  rich  heiress,  such  as  my  sister,  is  seldom 
allowed  to  follow  her  own  inclination  of  heart.  It  is 
customary  for  the  parents  to  effect  an  advantageous 
union  without  consulting  the  daughter,  and  such  con- 
tracts, I  am  inclined  to  think,  are  the  happiest." 

Maurits'  lips  were  slightly  compressed  when  he 
heard  the  young  baron,  just  let  loose  from  the  nursery, 
express  his  opinion  upon  such  a  matter.  He  restrained 
the  sarcasm,  however,  that  struggled  on  his  lips  for 
expression,  for,  because  of  their  common  interest  in 
the  young  Helena,  he  was  anxious  that  there  should  be 
no  clash  between  himself  and  George. 

The  latter  now  said  farewell  and  departed,  but 
Holm  remained  some  time  longer  with  Maurits. 

Holm,  a  remarkably  clever,  but  poor  young  man, 
studied  medicine,  and  was  one  of  the  two  with  whom 
Maurits,  during  his  college  life,  had  formed  an  indis- 
soluble bond  of  friendship. 

"Maurits,"  said  Holm,  when  George  was  well  out 
of  the  way,  "it  is  exceedingly  cold  here.  You  must 


THE   FRIENDS  333 

send  over  to  my  room  after  a  few  sticks  of   wood  and 
build  a  fire.      It  is  not  far,  just  across  the  street." 

"That  is  easily  said,  but  whom  shall  I  send?" 

"If  you  have  no  one  to  send,  we  will  go  ourselves. 
We  can  carry  a  few  sticks  under  our  capes.  It  is  so 
dark  here,  too,  that  one  can  hardly  see." 

"A  good  project,"  said  Maurits,  "but  you  must  re- 
main with  me  to-night,  and  share  the  comfort." 

"Gladly.  But,  hush,  there  are  footsteps  on  the 
stairs." 

"It  is  Albert  Broman,  I  think,"  said  Maurits.  "He 
promised  to  visit  me  this  evening." 

The  door  opened,  and  a  young  man  entered.  His 
face  expressed  great  good  humor  and  contentment  of 
mind.  Life  and  wit  played  in  his  small,  blue-gray 
eyes,  and  on  his  lips  rested  a  good  natured  smile  that 
inspired  confidence  and  trust.  His  figure  was  square 
built,  and  under  medium  height,  so  that  he  was  lack- 
ing both  in  the  elegant  build  and  stately  bearing  of 
his  companions,  yet  he  was  neither  too  short  nor  too 
corpulent.  Such  was  Albert  Broman,  the  third  of  the 
friends,  and  the  most  light-hearted  of  all.  He,  whose 
even  temper  never  forsook  him,  understood  how  to 
dispel  every  cloud  as  it  appeared  on  the  foreheads  of 
his  two  comrades,  more  disposed  to  melancholy  than 
he. 

"Good  evening,  boys!"  he  cried.  "Were  you  about 
to  go  out?" 

•  "Yes,  for  a  few  minutes,"  answered  Holm.  "Maurits 
has  no  wood,  so  we  are  going  over  to  my  room  to  get 
some.  Come  and  help  us." 

"To  be  sure.  Promenade  all!"  said  Albert.  "I 
have  found  you  in  this  fix  before.  Why  don't  you  buy 
wood,  you  old  philosopher?  Have  you  no  money? 


334  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

You  will  borrow  some,  perhaps.     Your  treasury  is  low, 
I  fear. " 

Albert  clapped  his  hand  over  that  part  of  his  attire 
where  men  usually  carry  their  pocket-books 

"How  much  money  have  you?"  said  Maurits,  laugh- 
ing. 

"Four  riks-dollars  and  thirty -six  skillings.  Say  the 
word,  and  half  of  it  is  yours,  brother." 

"No,  thank  you;  I  say  as  Alexander  said:  'There  is 
too  little  to  divide.'  " 

"All  right,  as  you  will.  We  will  go  after  the  wood 
now.  It  is  as  cold  as  a  cellar  here." 

The  friends  hastened  across  the  street  to  Holm's 
quarters  and  soon  returned,  each  with  several  sticks 
of  wood  under  his  cape.  A  cheerful  fire  was  quickly 
ablaze  in  Maurits'  little  fireplace,  and  the  three  threw 
themselves  down  before  it  for  a  chat. 

"Well,  Maurits,"  said  Holm,  "what  did  you  think 
of  Ehrenstam?" 

"Oh,  this  is  not  the  first  time  I  have  seen  him." 

"Indeed!  Where  did  you  make  his  acquaintance? 
You  seemed  to  be  entire  strangers  to  each  other." 

"This  meeting,"  said  Maurits,  "awakens  a  whole 
host  of  childhood  memories." 

"Bitter  or  pleasant?"  inquired  Albert. 

"Bitter,"  answered  Maurits. 

"Bury  them,  for    the  Lord's    sake!"  cried     Albert. 
"My  theory  is  that  one  should  never  think  of  distress- 
ing things  if  they  are  already    of  the    past.      It    is  to. 
suffer  over  again,  and  that  is  wholly  unnecessary." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Maurits  with  a  sad  smile,  "the  cir- 
cumstances here  in  question  can  no  longer  cause  me 
suffering." 

"You  have  promised  man}'  times  to  relate  to  us  the 


THE    FRIENDS  335 

story  of  your  chlidhood,  Maurits,"  said  Holm.  "It 
must  have  been  more  than  ordinarily  full  of  trouble. 
You  appear  to  have  nothing  but  sad  recollections  of 
it." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Maurits,  "it  was  bitter-sweet." 

"Bitter  sweet!"  interrupted  Albert,  "what  nonsense! 
How  can  one  have  bitter  sweet  recollections?" 

"Such,  for  instance,  is  the  remembrance  of  my 
mother,"  said  Maurits,  "and  still  another  is  in  connec- 
tion with  this  little  trinket  which  I  have  worn  around 
my  neck  for  a  number  of  years." 

Maurits  brought  forth,  and  showed  to  his  two 
friends,  the  little  amber  heart  which  had  come  into 
his  possession  in  such  a  remarkable  manner. 

"How  so?"  asked  Holm.  "That  trinket?  To  whom 
did  it  belong?" 

"While  a  boy,  I  rescued,  one  day,  a  little  girl  from 
drowning.  During  the  struggle  in  the  water,  this 
heart,  which  she  then  wore  around  her  neck,  became 
fastened  to  my  clothes.  Since  then  I  have  preserved 
it." 

"You  must  relate  this  story  to  us  in  fuller  detail," 
said  Albert.  "What  was  the  girl's  name?" 

"Isabella  Ehrenstam,"  said  Maurits. 

"What  do  you  say!  "  exclaimed  Holm,  in  astonish- 
ment. "The  young  baron's  sister?" 

"Yes." 

"And  he  knows  nothing  of  it?" 

"He  was  a  child  then,  and  has  probably  forgotten 
the  incident.  And,  moreover,  I  know  with  certainty 
that  he  never  so  much  as  heard  my  name." 

'Here  are  certainly  the  initials,  I.  E.,"  said  Albert, 
who  had,  meantime,  been  inspecting  the  trinket;  "are 
they  to  signify  Isabella  Ehrenstam?" 


336  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"No,"  said  Maurits.  "Connected  with  this  amber 
heart  is  a  long,  sad,  and  very  strange  story.  I  will 
rela.te  it  to  you.  It  has  played  an  active  part  in  my 
childhood." 

"Let  us  hear  it!  "  cried  the  two  friends  with  increas- 
ing curiosity. 

"But  it  is  to  go  no  further." 

"Certainly  not." 

Maurits  now  narrated  the  incidents  with  which  the 
reader  is  already  familiar.  He  acquainted  them  with 
his  meeting  with  Jacob  Kron,  the  outcast  son,  and  the 
conversation  at  the  murdered  man's  grave  in  the  for- 
est. Everything  was  vividly  clear  in  his  mind.  Scarce- 
ly a  word  uttered  by  Jacob  had  been  lost. 

This  finished,  he  went  into  his  own  childhood.  The 
incidents  in  connection  with  the  East  India  tea-cups 
at  Liljedahl;  Isabella's  rescue;  her  parents'  ingrati- 
tude, and,  at  last,  his  mother's  distressing  death,  all 
of  which  made  a  chain  of  circumstances  that  was  of 
the  keenest  interest  to  his  two  auditors. 

"How  strange!"  said  Holm  when  Maurits  had  fin- 
ished. "One  is  almost  tempted  to  cry  out  with  Jacob 
Kron,  'There  is  no  Providence  but  there  is  a  fate!'1 

"Yes,"  said  Albert,  "it  is  a  play  of  fate  that  runs 
through  both  your  history  and  Jacob's.  Have  you 
heard  nothing  of  him  since?" 

"No,  not  since  my  mother's  death.  He  had  deter- 
mined to  be  fearfully  revenged  upon  his  unnatural 
father  and  his  famil)7.  Poor  Jacob!  Perhaps  the  arm 
of  justice  has  stayed  his  vengeance." 

"Your  Jacob  Kron,  notwithstanding  his  wretched- 
ness, is  an  interesting  personage,"  added  Holm.  "He 
is  a  living  arraignment  of  the  barbaric  and  heartless 
egoism  of  the  present  age." 


THE    FRIENDS  337 

"And  of  a  social  structure  rotten  to  its  base,"  in- 
terposed Albert.  "It  must  be  demolished  and  wholly 
rebuilt,  for,  if  we  do  not  find  a  cure  for  the  present 
social  ills,  a  new  and  a  more  dangerous  revolution 
than  we  have  ever  had  will  overturn  now  existing 
evils." 

"Then,  in  the  morning,  you  are  to  break  the 
seal  of  your  father's  will?"  asked  Holm,  for  Maurits 
had  also  mentioned  the  secret  thereof. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "in  the  morning  I  shall  be 
twenty  years  old." 

"Great  guns!  How  curious  you  must  be!"  exclaimed 
Albert.  "How,  in  the  name  of  the  saints,  could  you 
restrain  yourself  so  long?" 

"It  has,  indeed,  been  difficult  at  times,"  Maurits 
acknowledged.  "But  the  promise  given  to  my  dying 
mother  has  been  held  sacred!" 

"Who  knows,"  resumed  Albert  in  a  jesting  tone, 
"what  these  papers  may  contain?  Perhaps,  when  all 
is  revealed,  you  are  as  rich  as  a  Crresus.  You  will, 
in  that  event,  pay  all  my  liabilities,  of  coarse  Or, 
maybe,  you  are  even  a  prince,  possibly  the  crown 
prince.  Ah,  your  highness,"  continued  he,  rising  and 
making  a  serio  comic  bow,  "if  so  be,  have  a  thought  for 
your  most  obedient  servant  with  some  lucrative  em- 
ployment. A  sinecure,  if  possible,  a  postoffice,  for 
instance,  or  prime  minister.  And  if  your  high  might- 
iness should  require  a  strong  arm  to  establish  your 
rights,  count  upon  my  powerful  assistance.  I'll  face 
death,  if  there  is  anything  to  gain  by  it." 

"We  depend  upon  you,"  said  Maurits  with  great 
dignity.  "And  we  give  you  our  princely  word  that, 
upon  our  ascending  the  throne,  you  shall  be  either  our 
prime  minister,  or  our  court  jester,  whichever  you 
please. " 


338  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"O,  be  assured  of  my  most  humble  gratitude." 

"Hold,  enough  of  this, nonsense!"  interrupted  Holm, 
laughing.  "The  fire  has  gone  out,  and  it  is  only  half- 
past  seven.  It  is  yet  too  early  to  retire;  what  shall 
we  do?" 

"If  you  were  not  such  esthetes,"  said  Albert,  "I 
would  invite  you  to  go  with  me  to  some  cellar  and 
help  me  eat  a  beefsteak.  But  such  stuff  is  too  com- 
mon, I  fear." 

"The  invitation  is  accepted,"  said  Holm.  "What  do 
you  say,  Mauri  ts?" 

"My  stomach  is  not  averse,  but  the  emptiness  of 
my  purse  is  an  obstacle." 

"That  is  nothing,  brother,  I'll  pay  the  score.  When 
you  have  taken  possession  of  your  inheritance,  you 
shall,  in  return,  invite  us  to  champagne,"  said  Albert. 

"Agreed,"  said  Maurits.  "One  can  afford  to  be  a 
little  lavish  after  passing  through  such  heavy  trials  as 
I  have  to-day." 

"True  as  gospel!"  cried  Albert.  "You  were  exam- 
ined to  day.  How  did  it  go?" 

"Oh,  tolerably  well." 

"I  appreciate  your  modesty,  brother.  It  honors  you 
quite  as  much  as  your  knowledge.  You  will,  without 
doubt,  receive  the  highest  honors.  " 

"O,  I  do  not  hope  for  so  much.  The  professor  was 
exceedingly  displeased  because  I  had  not  read  the 
works  of  his  colleagues." 

"Colleagues!"  cried  Albert  angrily.  "Such  abomina- 
ble trash!  As  if  one's  salvation  depended  upon  trans- 
lating and  learning  by  heart  all  the  nonsense  that  the 
wise  fathers  prate  about  in  the  cathedrals.  It  makes 
me  sick  to, -think  of  it;  let  us  go." 

The  three  young  men  left  the    room  and    went,  arm 


THE     FRIENDS  339 

in  arm,  to  one  of  Upsala's    cellars  to    partake  of    the 
proposed  refreshments. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    BEQUEST 

It  was  earl)'  in  the  morning  of  the  day  following 
the  incidents  of  the  preceding  chapter.  The  sun  had 
not  yet  risen,  but  Maurits  was  already  up  and  at  his 
work-table,  where  before  him  lay  the  package  contain- 
ing his  deceased  father's  bequest. 

The  seal  was  yet  unbroken.  An  indescribable  feel- 
ing restrained  the  young  man  every  time  he  stretched 
forth  his  hand  to  lift  the  package.  He  was  standing 
at  the  opening  of  a  new  epoch  in  his  life,  perhaps. 
It  might  be  thai  these  papers  contained  information 
that  would  wholly  annihilate  his  present  prospects, 
habits,  and  plan  of  life.  His  hand  trembled  percepti- 
bly, when  at  last  he  grasped  the  papers  and  slowly 
broke  the  seal.  The  first  that  met  his  eye  read  as 
follows: 

"March  2oth,  18 — .  The  undersigned,  having  ob- 
served all  the  formalities  of  law,  doth  hereby  join  in 
the  holy  bonds  of  wedlock,  the  right  honorable  Count 
Claes  Henrik  Stjernekrantz  of  Odensvik,  in  Werm- 
land,  and  Miss  Augusta  Fredrika,  daughter  of  the  gar- 
dener, Johan  Johanson,  in  the  parish  of  G—  and 
bishopric  of  W — . 

"In  witness  whereof,  witness  my  hand  and  seal. 
"At  the  vicarage  of  G — ,  March  23,   18 — 

"GUSTAF    HULTBERG, 

i;Dean  and  Pastor." 
340 


THE    BEQUEST  34! 

Maurits'  cheeks  were  alternately  pale  and  flushed, 
while  reading  this  marriage  certificate.  "Stjernekrantz 
of  Odensvik!"  muttered  he.  "There  is  now  no  doubt 
about  it;  I  am  brother  to  the  man  who  murdered  my 
mother,  his  own  step-mother;  brother  to  him  in  whose 
barn  I  have  threshed  for  a  pittance,  and  upon  whose 
possessions  I  dwelt  in  a  miserable  hut  during  my 
childhood.  O  fate!  O  fate!  Another  of  your  freaks! 
But  let  us  read  on. " 

The  next  paper  that  fell  into  Maurits'  hand  was  the 
certificate  of  his  own  baptism,  signed  by  the  same 
priest,  and  witnessed  by  two  peasants  of  a  parish  in 
one  of  Sweden's  southern  districts,  the  birthplace  of 
his  mother. 

"I  can  legitimize  myself  then  at  my  pleasure  as 
Count  Stjernekrantz,"  said  Maurits  to  himself.  "I  be- 
long, then,  by  birth  to  the  aristocracy,  against  whom, 
in  my  boyhood,  I  swore  an  implacable  hate.  My  God, 
how  strange!" 

There  remained  yet  one  paper  unread  It  was  a 
long,  folded  letter.  The  contents  of  this  were  as  fol- 
lows: — 

"Maurits,  my  son: — If  these  papers  sometime  come 
into  your  possession,  they  are  your  father's  greeting 
from  the  land  of  the  dead;  for,  if  I  live  until  the  time 
arrives  when  you  are  to  know  what  is  herein  contained, 
they  will  be  unnecessary,  because  you  shall  then  hear 
from  my  own  lips  what  I  lay  before  you  thus  in  writ- 
ing. But  as  the  days  of  man  are  short  and  uncertain, 
I  will  leave  in  the  keeping  of  your  mother  these  eluci- 
dations and  explanations  of  my  relation  to  you,  con- 
cerning which  I  deem  it  my  duty  to  inform  you. 

"Let  me  preface  my  narrative  with  a  short  account 
of  the  incidents  just  preceding  your  birth. 


342  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"I  had  been  married  once  already  before  seeing  your 
mother.  My  first  wife  was  dead,  and  had  left  me  an 
only  child,  a  son,  who  had  caused  me  much  sorrow. 
Reared  in  abundance  and  wantonness;  spoiled  by  a 
loving,  but  weak,  mother's  indulgence,  and,  finally, 
led  astray  by  companionship  with  a  false  and  godless 
friend  who  amused  himself  with  poisoning  the  youth's 
soul,  he  was  soon  on  the  verge  of  a  gulf  from  which 
my  hand  vainly  sought  to  redeem  him.  My  warnings 
were  met  by  opposition;  my  commands  by  disobe- 
dience and  scorn.  To  him  pleasure  was  everything. 
To  gain  control  of  my  property  was  the  acme  of  his 
desires,  in  order  that  he  might  throw  himself  into  the 
sea  of  pleasure  spread  out  before  him  and  purchasable 
with  money. 

"I  have  necessarily  entered  into  this  account  of  my 
first-born  in  order  that  you  may  better  understand 
why  I  so  chose  your  manner  of  bringing  up. 

"Soon  after  the  death  of  my  first  wife,  I  set  out  on 
foot  and  alone  upon  a  journey  through  the  southern 
districts  of  Sweden.  It  pleased  me  to  mingle  with  the 
people,  concealing  my  rank  and  wealth,  and,  some- 
times, clad  in  the  plainest  manner,  to  take  part  in  the 
innocent  pleasures  in  which  the  simple  children  of  the 
neighborhood  in  summer-green  meadows,  on  a  holiday 
evening,  amused  themselves  after  their  tiresome  labors. 
No  one  suspected  my  wealth  and  station.  No  one 
knew  that  a  rich  and  respected  nobleman  was  dis- 
guised in  the  coarse  garb  in  which  I  sat  and  smoked 
my  clay  pipe  among  the  old  men,  or  took  part  in  the 
dance  around  the  May-pole  with  the  happy,  innocent 
youths.  I  traveled  wholly  incognito  and  was  regarded 
by  some  as  a  wandering  artist,  by  others  as  a  good- 
natured  mechanic  who  went  about  the  district  seeking 


THE    BEQUEST  .        343 

employment.  I  allowed  them  to  think  what  they 
would.  Tired  of  the  city's  oppressiveness,  and  the 
glitter  of  its  salons,  the  refreshing  country  life  pleased 
me. 

"During  this  journey,  I  arrived,  one  glorious  even- 
ing in  the  middle  of  June,  at  the  parish  of  G — ,  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  and  charming  regions  to  be  found 
in  Sweden.  The  priest  of  the  parish  had  been  my 
college  mate.  We  had  been  very  good  friends  when 
fellow  students  at  Upsala,  and,  although  I  had  not 
seen  him  for  many  years,  I  hoped  to  find  in  him  the 
same  trusty  affection  and  friendship  as  before.  I 
therefore  made  my  way  at  once  to  the  parsonage.  My 
friend,  who  was  still  unmarried,  received  me  with 
hearty  demonstrations  of  gladness.  I  confided  to  him 
my  desire  to  remain  unknown,  and  acquainted  him 
with  the  pleasure  I  found  in  wandering  among  the 
people  and  in  their  society,  gathering,  by  this  means, 
an  insight. into  their  customs,  manners  and  domestic 
life. 

"'I  will  respect  your  incognito,'  said  my  friend 
smiling,  'but  you  must  remain  with  me  some  days. 
We  will  make  short  excursions  together  over  the 
surrounding  country,  and  finally  you  shall  witness  the 
midsummer  dance  in  the  village.  You  can  certainly 
find  no  objection  to  my  suggestions. 

"The  project  seemed  a  good  one,  and  I  promised  to 
remain  until  after  the  midsummer  dance,  at  least. 

"In  gala  attire,  the  boys  and  girls  assembled  on  the 
green  meadow.  My  friend  and  I  mingled  with  the 
happy  throng,  and  even  took  part  in  the  dance  around 
the  May-pole. 

"Maurits,  here  I  saw  your  mother  for  the  first  time. 
Her  beauty,  gentleness,  her  sweet  innocence,  made 


344  THE  PLAY  ° 

the  deepest  impression  upon  my  heart.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  a  former  gardener  with  whom  she  dwelt  in 
a  little  cottage  a  short  distance  from  the  village.  She 
was  barely  sixteen  years  old,  beautiful  as  the  goddess 
of  spring  and  as  genial  and  blooming  as  she.  I  vis- 
ited her.  I  found  in  her  an  abundant  wealth  of  tal- 
ent, though  it  had  not  yet  been  developed.  I  soon 
loved  her  passionately,  and  she,  on  her  part,  regarded 
me  with  favor.  I  determined  to  make  her  my  wife, 
and  to  marry  her  in  secret,  for  my  numerous  aristo- 
cratic relatives  would  not,  I  knew,  recognize  her,  and 
would  make  both  her  and  me  the  objects  of  their  con- 
tempt. I  confided  my  plan  to  my  friend,  the  pastor.  At 
first,  he  sought  to  dissuade  me,  but,  seeing  that  I 
immovable,  he  at  last  promised  me  his  aid.  Before 
making  Augusta  my  wife,  I  desired  that  she  should 
recieve  such  culture  as  would  enhance  the  value  of  her 
possession,  and  fit  her  for  the  new  life  into  which  she 
was  about  to  enter.  My  friend  promised  to  undertake 
her  education  and,  in  truth,  no  better  teacher  could 
have  been  found.  For  a  year  and  a  half  she  was  a 
dweller  under  his  roof,  enjoying  the  advantages  of  his 
instruction,  as  also  those  of  an  elderly  lady  whom  the 
pastor  had  taken  into  his  house  on  her  account,  and, 
with  an  aptness  and  perseverance  almost  without  equal, 
she  had  soon  learned  all  that  young  women  at  her  age 
usually  know.  I  saw  her  again.  The  sixteen-year- 
old  bud  had  matured  into  a  splendid  flower,  a  being  of 
queenly  beauty  and  bearing.  Enchanted,  I  clasped 
her  to  my  breast,  and  swore  to  devote  the  rest  of  my 
life  to  her. 

"With  the  greatest  secrecy,  the  pastor  married  us  at 
the  parsonage.  Only  Augusta's  father  and  two  trust- 
worthy peasants  of  the  community  witnessed  the  cer- 


THE    BEQUEST  345 

emony.  The  bans  had  been  published  in  a  distant 
country  church  where  none  knew  my  name,  and  where 
the  community  was  made  up  wholly  of  peasants,  not 
at  all  likely  to  be  inquisitive. 

"Thus  it  was  possible  for  us  to  keep  our  secret. 
None  of  my  proud  family  knew  that  their  kinsman  had 
married  a  simple  peasant  girl,  and  we  agreed  that  no 
one  of  them  should  ever  know  it. 

"During  the  first  year  of  our  marriage,  Augusta  re- 
mained a  resident  of  her  native  parish.  Her  home,  a 
beautiful  country-seat  which  I  leased,  la}'  quite  near 
the  parsonage.  And  here,  while  my  acquaintances  be- 
lieved me  to  be  traveling  for  pleasure's  sake,  I  dwelt 
with  her  whole  months. 

"You  were  born  ten  months  after  our  union.  My 
joy  was  beyond  measure,  and  beside  your  cradle  I 
took  a  solemn  oath  to  allow  you  to  grow  up  in  these 
frugal  surroundings  and  wonted  to  work,  in  order  that 
you  should  not  bring  upon  me  the  same  sorrow  as  had 
my  first-born,  spoiled  by  luxury. 

"Augusta's  father,  who  resided  with  his  daughter, 
died  about  this  time.  The  last  tie  that  bound  her  to 
the  home  of  her  childhood  was  now  severed,  and,  with- 
out regret,  she  consented  to  go  with  me  to  Wermland 
where  she  would  be  near  my  possessions. 

"About  two  miles  from  Odensvik  was  a  pretty  little 
villa  which  I  rented,  and  there  established  my  wife 
and  son,  separated  from  the  world  and  free  from  other 
visits  than  mine.  Many  precious  memories  linger 
around  that  little  home.  Many  sweet  hours  have  I 
spent  there  in  the  companionship  of  my  lovely  bride. 

"Augusta  loved  me  with  all  possible  fervor.  Her 
pure  heart  knew  no  higher  pleasure  than  acquiescence 
in  my  slightest  wish,  and,  if  she  could  have  read  in 


346  THE    PLAY   OF    FATE 

my  eyes  what  I  desired,  she  would    have    been    ready 
to  make  any  sacrifice  in  its  fulfillment. 

"It  never  occurred  to  her,  apparentl)',  to  claim  her 
rights  as  a  countess.  If  she  had  done  so,  I  should 
have  yielded,  perhaps,  however  unwillingly.  She  ap- 
peared to  be  content  and  happy  in  the  simplicity  of 
her  surroundings 

"Your  bringing  up  was  a  matter  of  no  little  concern 
to  us.  I  was  anxious  that  you  should  learn  nothing 
regarding  your  birth  before  you  had  arrived  at  an  age 
of  sufficient  understanding  to  decide  your  future  for 
yourself.  I  exacted,  therefore,  a  solemn  promise  from 
your  mother  that  she  would  not  allow  you  to  know 
before  your  twentieth  year  who  your  father  was.  By 
this  means,  I  hoped  to  prevent  the  pride  of  birth 
from  taking  root  in  your  soul.  It  was  my  wish  that 
you  should  grow  up,  not  in  poverty,  yet  in  circum- 
stances that  would  teach  you  the  necessity  of  self-ex- 
ertion and  urge  you  to  carve  out  your  own  future. 
Have  I  done  right  in  this,  my  son? 

"As  you  read  this,  you  are  standing  at  the  cross- 
road, and  I  am  no  longer  in  existence.  What,  I 
would  know,  has  been  your  fortune  to  the  present 
time,  my  son?  Have  you  pursued  a  path  of  virtue? 
Do  you  see  your  way  clear  to  a  competency  and  honor? 
Do  not  swerve,  then,  from  the  course  you  have  laid 
out. 

"You  can,  however,  now  choose  whichever  you  will 
— riches  and  idleness,  or  industry  and  contentment. 
You  can  choose  which  you  will,  I  say,  for  to  leave  you 
without  an  inheritance,  that  were  an  injustice.  Know 
then,  Maurits,  you  can,  at  your  pleasure,  legitimize 
yourself  as  my  son,  born  in  lawful  wedlock,  and  de- 
mand a  portion  of  the  estate  left  by  me.  The  greater 


THE    BEQUEST  347 

part  of  it  falls,  of  course,  to  your  half  brother,  by  en- 
tailment,  but,  aside  from  that,  I  leave  a  considerable 
fortune  in  which  you  have  a  right  to  share  with  him  if 
you  are  so  disposed.  But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  you 
feel  that  riches  would  corrupt  you,  that  your  desire 
for  healthful  occupation  would  be  diminished,  your 
industry  thus  far  go  for  naught — rather  consign  to  the 
fire  at  once  these  papers, which  in,  such  an  event  would 
bring  to  you  only  misfortune  and  despair.  Misfortune 
and  despair?  Yes.  For  when,  by  the  aid  of  riches,  you 
have  been  satiated  with  the  boisterous  pleasures  of 
youth — when, enticed  by  sirens,  you  have  plucked  freely 
of  the  flowers  growing  on  the  shores  of  their  dwelling- 
place, and  have  found  those  shores  white  with  the  bones 
of  their  victims-- then,  my  son,  will  come  this  life's 
inadequacy,  its  satiety,  its  infirmities.  And  that  con- 
dition--unworthy  creatures,  in  whose  hearts  heaven 
has  planted  the  seed  for  a  rich  harvest — that  condi- 
tion, degraded  to  the  animal,  how  often  has  it  termi- 
nated in  despair,  insanity  and  suicide. 

"Maurits,  I  assume  that  at  this  instant  while  you 
read  this — if  ever  you  are  permitted  to  read  it — you 
stand  alone  in  the  world,  that  your  mother  has  already 
joined  me  on  the  other  side  of  the  grave.  I  assume, 
even,  that  you  are  still  pure  and  undefiled;  that  with 
skill  and  courage  you  have  entered  upon  an  honorable 
career,  and  that,  without  faltering,  you  have  hitherto 
braved  life's  troubles  and  crosses.  In  short,  that  you  are 
as  I  have  prayed  to  God  for  many  years  my  son  might 
be.  And  if  so,  my  son,  think  well  ere  you  choose. 
Remember  that  work  is  the  one  source  of  pleasure  and 
honor,  and  that  it  is  only  struggles,  and  struggles 
honorably  maintained,  that  mold  and  develop  the 
man.  It  is  not  my  desire  that  you  live  in  want.  No, 


348  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

before  I  die,  I  will  make  provision  in  your  favor  to 
facilitate  your  efforts.  Whichever  you  choose,  you 
shall  not  be  left  entirely  dependent  upon  your  own 
resources.  Neither  will  I  that  you  should  live  in  lux- 
ury. You  have  heard  the  utterances  of  my  soul,  the 
choice  now  lies  with  you. 

"I  am  on  the  eve  of  departing  upon  a  journey 
abroad.  My  elder  son  accompanies  me,  for  I  will 
leave  him  as  little  as  possible  out  of  my  sight,  to  fol- 
low his  own  bent.  If  I  return  from  this  journey  I 
will  myself  watch  over  you,  my  son,  as  I  have  hitherto 
done.  If,  however,  I  do  not  return,  before  I  die,  I 
will,  as  I  have  already  declared,  make  a  will  in  your 
behalf,  and  therein  set  apart  for  you  a  sum  sufficient 
to  aid  you  in  your  hour  of  need. 

"And  now  farewell,  my  beloved.  May  )^ou  be  a 
happy  man,  even  though  you  are  not  made  rich.  I 
have  now  revealed  the  reasons  for  my  seeming  injustice 
toward  you.  I  dare  hope  that  you  will  acknowledge 
their  validity  and  cherish  my  memory.  I  leave  you 
in  your  mother's  care.  Love  her,  Maurits,  and  if  our 
separation  is  made  permanent,  be  her  support,  her  com- 
fort. 

"Yet  once  more,  farewell.  That  you  may  be  saga- 
cious, industrious  and  fortunate  is  the  most  fervent 
wish  cherished  by  Your  affectionate  father, 

"CLAES  HENRIK  STJERNEKRANTZ. " 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   ALTERNATIVE 

The  hours  sped  rapidly  by;  it  had  become  full  day 
and  still  Maurits  sat  bowed  upon  his  writing  table, 
sunk  in  deep  thought. 

"Claes  Henrik  Stjernekrantz!"  heat  last  broke  forth 
in  a  loud  voice,  casting  a  glance  at  the  handwriting 
on  the  envelope;  "he  was  then  my  father.  Little  won- 
der that  I  resemble  Count  Eberhard,  he  is  my  brother." 
Maurits  rose,  and  paced  back  and  forth  across  the 
floor. 

"I  remember,"  muttered  he  to  himself,  "that  my 
mother,  one  time  during  my  childhood,  spoke  to  me 
of  my  departed  father.  It  was  the  evening  of  my 
meeting  with  Jacob  Kron  in  the  woods,  where,  at  his 
instigation,  I  took  Hannibal's  oath  against  the  -rich. 
I  related  this  to  my  mother.  She  became  alarmed  and 
intimated  to  me  that  such  an  oath  might  compel  me 
to  hate  my  own  blood,  for  even  I  was  the  son  of  a 
rich  man.  But  she  did  not  confide  to  me  that  some- 
time in  the  future  I  might  lay  claim  to  a  portion  of 
his  wealth.  Why  did  she  not  tell  me  this?  Perhaps 
she  did  not  know  it.  It  may  be  she  believed  the  es- 
tate of  my  father  to  be  entailed  and,  according  to  law, 
to  belong  wholly  and  absolutely  to  the  eldest  son.  Pos. 
sibly  she  feared  to  wake  the  slumbering  passions  she 
felt  to  be  in  existence  within  me.  But  I  know  at  last, 

849 


35O  THE    PLAV    OF    FATE 

and  the  choice  is  now  open  to  me.  How  shall  I  act? 
I  have  declared  it  the  object  of  my  life  to  carve  my 
own  way.  I  have  looked  upon  this  as  the  most  honor- 
able course,  the  most  independent.  And  now  come 
riches  with  their  allurements  bidding  me  to  luxury 
and  pleasure  instead  of  industry  and  self-reliance.  I 
am  then  a  count.  Ha,  ha!  how  jolly!  I  possess  the 
right  to  bear  one  of  those  high-sounding  names  at  whose 
mention  I  have  so  often  sneered,  and  that  I  have  so 
deeply  hated.  Mauri ts  Stjernekrantz, — not  so  bad- 
sounding  after  all.  Ha!  it  is  the  name  borne  by  my 
mother's  murderer!  Shall  I  also  bear  it?  Shall  I 
share  this  inheritance  with  him — him,  who  with  a  few 
vile  pieces  of  metal  atoned  for  his  crime!  When  her 
blood  was  moistening  the  earth,  and  the  blind  victim 
was  resting  on  my  lap,  her  murderer  rode  on  indiffer- 
ently, not  so  much  as  checking  his  horse  to  ask  after 
her  condition.  Must  I  bear  the  same  name  as  he!  O, 
mother!  your  blessed  spirit  would  then  no  longer 
hover  over  your  darling,  you  would  turn  from  me  in 
grief.  Moreover,  am  I  fitted  for  wealth?  That  is  the 
question  my  father  propounded  to  me,  and  bade  me 
weigh  well.  Can  I  stand  the  change  from  penury  to 
sudden  luxury  without  being  ruined  by  the  temptations 
it  will  put  in  my  way?  Ye  passions  that  slumber  in 
my  breast,  would  ye  not  take  rein  and  break  loose,  set 
in  motion  by  that  mighty  power?  I  do  not  know,  but 
I  fear  it.  I  do  not  blame  you,  father.  I  reverence  your 
memory,  for  I  understand  your  purpose.  You  have 
selected  for  me  the  most  beautiful  inheritance;  an  in- 
heritance better  than  title  or  riches.  It  was  not  your 
fault  that  your  premature  taking  away  prevented  you 
from  keeping  my  mother  from  want.  Your  character 
must  have  been  noble,  exalted,  grand,  my  father. 


THE    ALTERNATIVE  351 

And  your  first-born,  what  is  he?  What  has  made  him 
what  he  is?  'Over  abundance, '  I  hear  you  say,  and  I 
believe  it.  And  you,  my  noble  and  abandoned  mother! 
Now,  for  the  first  time,  I  have  learned  to  appreciate 
you  fully.  I  have  loved  you  in  life,  I  have  cherished 
your  memory  in  death,  you  are  now  an  object  of  won- 
der to  me.  Through  long  years  you  dwelt  in  a  mis- 
erable cottage  on  the  estate  of  your  step-son,  when  at 
any  time  you  might  have  come  forward  and  made  good 
your  title  to  better  things.  You  had  in  your  possession 
the  documents  that  would  have  established  your  mar- 
riage, and  you  died,  poor  and  forsaken,  without  having 
made  use  of  them.  And  why?  Because  of  a  promise 
by  which  you  were  bound  for  all  time  to  keep  the  se- 
cret; because  you  loved  me,  and  believed  it  better  for 
my  future  welfare  that  I  should  grow  up  in  poverty, 
rather  than  in  luxury.  At  once  proud  and  submissive, 
you  yielded  to  your  burden  without  sinking  under  its 
weight.  Your  life,  forgotten  or  unknown  by  the  bus- 
tling, noisy  multitude,  oh,  how  much  more  worthy  to 
be  sung  than  that  of  many  whose  names  are  carved  on 
imperishable  marble!  Father,  mother!  Your  son 
shall  be  worthy  of  you!  Awa)',  ye  seductive  allure- 
ments! I  scorn  riches!  I  will  not  lift  my  hand  to 
receive  them!  " 

Maurits  caught  up  his  mother's  marriage  certificate 
that  still  remained  on  the  table,  and  thrust  it  into  the 
fire.  Already  the  paper  had  begun  to  burn.  An  in- 
stant more,  and  the  instrument  that  could  make  good 
his  rights  would  have  gone  up  in  smoke,  but,  recollect- 
ing himself,  he  drew  his  hand  back. 

"Why  should  I  do  this?"  he  muttered  softly.  "It 
may  be  of  some  use  to  me  in  the  future,  who  knows? 
I  will  preserve  these  papers  until  later." 


352  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Slowly  he  returned  them  to  the  envelope,  after 
which  he  threw  the  package  into  the  drawer  of  his 
bureau. 

"There,"  continued  he,  "away  with  you,  you  cor- 
rupter!  You  shall  tempt  me  no  longer!  The  world 
would  call  me  a  fool  if  it  knew  what  I  am  renounc- 
ing, for  it  recognizes  no  higher  reward  for  the  strug- 
gles of  life  than  gold.  But  the  world  may  say  what 
it  will,  I  am  doing  right  in  shunning  that  which 
would,  perhaps,  work  my  destruction." 

At  this  point  the  young  student's  monologue  was 
interrupted  by  heavy  footsteps  on  the  stairs,  announc- 
ing a  morning  caller. 

It  was  the  landlord,  Councilman  Bogren,  who  en- 
tered. 

Councilman  Bogren  was  what  is  called  in  the  lan- 
guage of  Upsala,  a  "bracka."  That  is,  one  whose 
aim  in  life  seems  to  be  the  fleecing  of  poor  students, 
to  which  end  every  available  means  is  seized  upon. 

There  are  to  be  found  in  Upsala  many  "brackas, " 
but  Councilman  Bogren  was  one  of  the  most  unscru- 
pulous. Together  with  lending  money  at  a  generous 
profit,  he  even  rented  furniture  to  the  students  at 
outrageous  prices  which  they  were  compelled  to  pay, 
it  being  impossible  for  them  to  do  better.  He  was  a 
man  much  below  the  average  height,  with  a  friendly 
and  fawning  expression  of  countenance  and  a  very 
rotund  figure. 

"Good  morning,  young  gentleman,"  said  the  council- 
man. "Pardon  me  for  disturbing  you  at  such  an  early 
hour." 

"No  harm    done.      Please    be  seated,  Mr.     Bogren." 

"Thanks.  Had  a  little  errand.  You  understand,  of 
Course,  the  nature  thereof?" 


THE    ALTERNATIVE  353 

"You  have  not  received  your  rent  for  the  last  term, 
I  am  well  aware,"  said  Maurits,  "but  you  must  be  pa- 
tient yet  a  few  weeks." 

"Can't  wait  any  longer,"  interrupted  the  council- 
man. "Thought  you  were  one  of  the  punctual  kind, 
otherwise  I  would  not  have  given  you  entrance  to  my 
house. " 

The  worthy  councilman  usually  omitted  the  pronoun 
when  speaking  of  himself.  He  seemed  particularly 
disposed  to  shun  the  pronoun  I,  but  this  was  the  only 
act  that  did  not  bespeak  the  egotist. 

"I  most  assuredly  mean  to  be  punctual,"  said  Mau- 
rits, "but  one  as  poor  as  I  cannot  at  all  times  do  just 
as  he  would.  As  I  have  said,  you  must  wait." 

"Must,  say  you!"  cried  Bogren.  "If  that  is  your 
answer,  I  must  address  myself  to  the  faculty.  Every 
man  must  have  his  own." 

"Go  to  whom  you  will!"  Maurits  retorted  angrily, 
"but  be  good  enough  to  leave  me  now  in  peace,"  at 
the  same  time  motioning  toward  the  door. 

"You  are  very  independent,"  cried  the  little  coun- 
cilman, blue  with  rage.  "You  are  very  rude,  and  yet 
you  can't  pay  your  rent.  You  dare  to  show  me  out  of 
the  room  for  which  you  have  not  paid." 

"But  for  which  I  will  pay,"  said  Maurits  coldly. 
"Be  good  enough  to  leave  me,  Mr.  Bogren." 

"No,  I'll  not  go  until  I  have  received  my  due." 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  Holm,  who  at  this  in- 
stant entered  the  room.  "What  does  that  fellow 
want?" 

"Oh,  his  rent,"  answered  Maurits  angrily,  "and 
threatens  to  report  me  to  the  faculty.  As  you  know, 
I  am  just  now  absolutely  penniless." 

"What  is  the  amount?" 


354  THE    PI-AY    OF    FATE 

"Ten  riks-dollars, "  said  the  councilman. 

"I  received  some  money  by  post  to-day, "  said  Holm; 
"it  were  better  that  you  are  my  debtor  than  this  man's. 
There  you  are,  Mr.  Councilman,  and  get  yourself  out 
of  this,"  said  Holm,  drawing  from  his  purse  a  bank- 
note and  handing  it  to  him. 

"It  is  too  bad  that  I  must  trouble  you,  my  friend," 
said  Maurits,  his  brow  contracting  as  if  in  pain,  "but 
I  hope  to  be  able  to  repay  you  in  a  few  days." 

Councilman  Bogren  remained  standing  at  the  door. 

"What  more  do  )'ou  want?"  cried  Holm  in  a  vexed 
tone.  "You  have  received  your  money,  why  do  you 
not  go?" 

"I  was  wondering  if  the  gentleman  would  not  be 
disposed  to  pay  Mr.  Sterner's  rent  for  the  coming 
term,"  said  Bogren.  "Am  in  need  just  now  of  all  I 
can  scrape  up.  Have  a  large  bill  pressing  me  that 
I  must  meet." 

"Get  you  gone,  sir!"  shouted  Maurits,  white  with 
exasperation.  "You  have  no  right  to  demand  your 
rent  until  the  time  has  expired.  So  says  the  contract." 

"Know  that,  but  thought,  maybe, — " 

"Think  what  you  will,  but  go  now  —  or — 

He  made  a  threatening  gesture  with  his  hand. 

Alarmed,  the  councilman  opened  the  door  and  re- 
tired slowly,  without  further  utterance,  but  hardly  did 
lie  find  himself  out  of  immediate  danger  than  he  halted, 
and  hurled  a  storm  of  abuse  at  the  young  men. 

They  laughed,  and  allowed  him  to  indulge  himself 
for  a  few  minutes,  but,  at  last,  when  he  was  at  his 
best,  Maurits,  grasping  a  pitcher  of  water,  opened  the 
door  and  hurled  its  contents  over  the  disturber.  Wet 
as  a  weathercock  in  a  shower,  and  his  clothing  in 
disorder,  the  councilman  took  his  departure,  not, 


THE    ALTERNATIVE 


355 


however,  without  assuring  his  assailant  that  he  would 
lodge  a  complaint  before  the  faculty. 

"Very* well!"  said  Holm,  throwing  himself  upon  the 
sofa,  "we  are  rid  of  that  fellow.  This  is  your  birth- 
day, Maurits,  and  I  am  come  to  congratulate  you." 

"Acknowledge  that  you  are  come  to  learn  the  con- 
tents of  my  father's  will,  of  which  I  spoke  yesterday," 
said  Maurits.  "I  detected  at  once  that  your  curiosity 
was  excited." 

"As  you  will,  I  do  not  deny  it.  Have  you  read  those 
papers?" 

"Yes." 

"And  the  contents?" 

"Were  quite  surprising,  that  I  will  confess.  You  are 
my  friend,  Edward  Holm,  is  it  not  so?" 

"In  life  and  death." 

"And  I  may  rely  upon  your  silence,  if  I  should  con- 
fide to  you  a  weighty  matter?" 

"Do  I  merit  your  doubt,  Maurits?"  said  Edward 
seriously,  "have  you  any  reason  for  questioning  my 
trustworthiness?  " 

"No,  I  believe  you,"  resumed  Maurits,  "and  you 
shall  therefore  be  my  only  confidant." 

He  went  to  the  bureau,  opened  a  drawer  and  took 
therefrom  the  broken  package,  which  Holm  contem- 
plated with  natural  curiosity. 

"Your  manner  is  so  mysterious,  Maurits,"  said  he, 
"that  you  excite  me  to  the  utmost.  These  papers  must 
contain  something  of  no  little  importance." 

"Can  you  realize,"  said  Maurits,  "that  I  may  at  any 
hour  not  only  assume  the  title  of  count,  but  even  pos- 
sess myself  of  a  considerable  property  left  by  my  de- 
ceased father?" 

"You  jest,    Maurits!  " 


356  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"And  still  more,"  continued  the  young  man  smiling, 
"can  you  believe  that  I  have  determined  to  continue 
as  poor  as  I  am,  and  retain  the  name  that  I  have 
hitherto  borne?  Riches  and  high  birth  in  all  their 
grandeur  are  at  my  bidding  and  I  spurn  them  as  I 
would  a  worthless  nutshell." 

"You  are   relating    a    tale  from    the  Arabian  nights 
Maurits." 

Maurits  did  not  answer,  but  produced  his  mother's 
marriage  certificate,  and  his  own  certificate  of  baptism, 
which  he  silently  handed  to  his  friend. 

Edward  read  them,  and  threw  up  his  hands  in  as- 
tonishment. 

"Stjernekrantz!"  cried  he;  "your  father's  name  was 
Stjernekrantz,  that  amazingly  rich  magnate  of  whom 
I  have  often  heard  speak  in  my  childhood.  Then  you 
are  brother  to  the  Stjernekrantz  of  whom  you  were 
speaking  to  us  yesterday  evening." 

"Yes,  I  am  the  brother  of  my  mother's  murderer," 
said  Maurits. 

"But  explain  it  all  to  me." 

"Here  is  the  explanation,"  interrupted  Maurits, 
handing  his  friend  the  count's  letter.  "Read  this." 

Edward  required  no  second  invitation,  but  grasped 
the  paper  and  devoured  its  contents. 

"Well,  what  do  you  say?"  asked  Maurits,  when  Ed- 
ward, speechless,  returned  the  paper. 

"I  am  powerless  to  express  my  astonishment  Your 
experiences,  your  birth  and  your  destiny  would  make 
material  for  a  romance.  You  are  then  rich?" 

"In  potential,  yes,  as  the  good  Pastor  Bergholm  used 
to  say,  but  I  have  already  declined  them.  I  scorn 
riches." 

"And  your  father's  name?" 


THE    ALTERNATIVE  357 

"Yes,  that  above  all." 

"But  why?" 

"Because  he  himself  has  commanded  me  to  consider 
carefully  whether  1  feel  myself  strong  enough  to  carry 
the  burden  of  riches,  and,  furthermore,  because  I  will 
not  take  the  name  that  is  borne  by  the  man  who  was 
the  cause  of  my  mother's  death." 

"That  is  high-minded,  magnanimous,"  said  Holm, 
"but  I  fear  you  will  some  day  regret  your  resolution." 

"In  that  event,  I  have  the  evidence  and  can  make 
use  of  it  at  any  time  1  choose,  and,  moreover,  what 
do  I  renounce?  A  name!  Bah!  What  is  in  a  name, 
were  it  ever  so  high-sounding?  The  days  of  the  high- 
born are  past.  Nothing  but  relics  remain — the  rotten 
ensigns,  the  rusty  swords,  the  gilded  vellum — in  a 
word,  it  is  only  an  illusion  that  I  relinquish." 

"True  enough.  But  the  estates,  are  they  also  an 
illusion?" 

"No,  they  are  realities,"  continued  Maurits,  "but  I 
have  considered  carefully  these  words  of  my  father's 
letter — 'Maurits,  remember  that  it  is  work  only  that 
is  the  wellspring  of  happiness  and  honor;  that  it  is 
only  a  struggle,  and  an  honorably  pursued  struggle, 
that  builds  up  and  molds  the  man.'  These  words 
contain  a  wisdom  which  our  times  seem  to  have 
scorned  but  which,  nevertheless,  have  the  germ  within 
them  of  a  terrible  revolution,  if  it  is  not  possible  to 
win  this  end  by  fair  means.  These  words,  that  ought 
to  be  carved  in  glittering  letters  upon  the  common- 
wealth's facade,  what  do  they  contain  other  than  the 
teachings  of  the  socialist?  No  one  has  a  right  to  a 
superabundance  so  long  as  the  labor  of  any  one  fails 
to  procure  for  him  all  the  necessaries  of  life. " 

"It  is  then  a    principle,  a    socialistic     dogma,    that 


358  THE  PLAY  of  FATE 

impels  you  to  relinquish  what     the    world    would  call 
your  good  fortune?" 

"It  is  not  only  a  principle,  it  is  more;  it  is  confi- 
dence in  my  own  ability  to  win  my  way  unaided,  with 
no  accident  to  thank  for  it." 

"But  you  may  sink  under  the  trial." 

"I  do  not  believe  it,  I  require  so  little  to  satisfy  my 
needs.  With  one  or  two  hundred  riks-dollars,  my 
future  would  be  assured." 

"True,  but  you  haven't  so  much.  You  have  lived  a 
long  time  in  want." 

"Yes,"  said  Maurits,  "but  it  will  soon  be  better  with 
me.  I  have  some  great  projects  in  mind,  my  friend." 

"Indeed,  what  are  they?" 

"During  the  hours  unoccupied  with  my  studies,  I 
am  engaged  in  the  production  of  a  romance,  which 
will  bring  me  ere  long  the  necessary  funds  for  my 
purpose. " 

"Let  me  congratulate  you,"  said  Holm  surprised. 
"That  is  a  horse  of  another  color." 

"And  then,"  continued. Maurits,  "I  contemplate  writ- 
ing a  drama,  for  which  I  have  an  excellent  subject." 

"What  is  to  be  its  title?" 

"The  amber  heart." 

"Ah,  founded  then  upon  the    accident  that  occurred 
in  your  childhood,  and  which    you    related  to    us  yes 
terday?" 

"Yes,  and  you  must  acknowledge  that  there  is  in  it 
abundant  material  for  a  drama.  Meantime,  I  have  yet 
much  to  learn  before  I  can  grapple  with  my  subject." 

"And  you  have  actually  decided  to  make  no  use  of 
the  papers  contained  in  that  package?" 

"Fully  and  deliberately  decided.  They  shall  be 
laid  to  rest,  at  least  until  I  have  carved  for  myself  an 


THE   ALTERNATIVE  .      359 

independent  position.  That  is  my  pride — you  may 
say  of  it  what  you  will." 

"I  honor,  I  admire  it,"  said  Holm.  "Few  men 
would  be  equal  to  renouncing  so  much." 

"But  now,"  said  Maurits,  returning  the  package  to 
the  drawer,  which  he  locked,  'now  let  us  go  out.  I 
must  get  money  with  which  to  buy  wood,  and  I  must 
call  upon  the  woman  who  takes  care  of  my  room,  and 
learn  in  what  measure  the  young  Baron  Ehrenstam 
has  kept  his  promise  to  take  little  Helena  into  his 
care.  The  fellow  must  be  immensely  rich." 

"Yes,  his  father  gives  him  all  the  money  he  asks. 
It  is  said  that  in  one  winter  in  Stockholm  he  spent  as 
much  as  ten  thousand  riks  dollars." 

"That  boy!      Why,  he  is  hardly  seventeen!" 

"That  is  no  hindrance  to  his  living  up  to  his  posi- 
tion," observed  Holm  with  a  bitter  smile.  "While  we 
were  almost  freezing  to  death  last  winter,  this  boy 
spent  upon  horses,  upon  dogs,  in  play  and  upon  mis- 
tresses, fabulous  sums  of  money,  enough  to  have  sup- 
ported several  families  during  a  whole  year." 

"Impossible!"  cried  Maurits  with  rising  astonish- 
ment. "A  child  comparatively,  as  he  is,  cannot  have 
been  allowed  such  free  rein." 

"But  it  is  so,"  replied  Edward,  "and  it  is  said, 
moreover,  that  his  father  even  selected  his  first  mis- 
tress for  him. " 

"Incredible!  Shameful!"  cried  Maurits.  "But  how 
does  such  debauchery  accord  with  his  seeming  interest 
in  the  young  girl  you  saw  here  yesterday?" 

"Oh,"  said  Holm  scornfully,  Vthat  is  an  easy  prob- 
lem to  solve.  Helena  is  yet  a  child,  'tis  true,  but 
George  sees  well  enough  that  in  time  she  will  be  a 
beauty  of  high  order.  I  would  say  nothing  yesterday, 


360  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

but,  believe  me,  I  am  convinced  that  this  affair  will 
end  in  the  girl's  downfall  and  misfortune." 

"God  in  heaven!"  gasped  Maurits  in  anguish,  "such 
infamy  in  a  seventeen  year  old  youth  is  unheard  of! 
But  then,  it  is  no  more  than  a  suspicion." 

"Well  grounded,  nevertheless,  that  you  must  ac- 
knowledge. George,  already  base  at  heart,  is  not  ca- 
pable of  a  generous  act.  I  noticed  with  what  eyes 
he  contemplated  the  innocent  sacrifice,  and  I  seemed 
to  read  in  his  face  the  whole  of  his  dark  plan  as  it 
was  hastily  formulated.  You  must  be  on  your  guard, 
lest,  in  your  generous  desire  to  aid  the  girl,  you  are 
made  an  instrument  in  her  destruction." 

"You  are  right,  I  must  save  her!"  cried  Maurits 
earnestly.  "O,  the  poor  girl  interests  me  beyond  my 
powers  of  expression.  But  how  shall  I  go  about  it  to 
get  at  the  certainty  of  his  designs?  In  case  you  have 
been  mistaken  in  your  judgment,  it  were  cruel  to  put 
obstacles  in  the  way  of  George's  plans.  I  must  inves- 
tigate carefully  before  I  take  any  such  steps,  and,  be- 
fore all,  I  must  win  the  girl's  confidence.  Come  now, 
let  us  go." 


CHAPTER  V 

GOD'S     FINGER 

At  the  extreme  end  of  Svartsback  Street,  in  Upsala, 
was  situated  at  the  time  of  our  narrative,  or  in  the 
closing  months  of  1820,  a  small,  red,  frame  house  of 
very  uninviting  appearance.  It  had  not  so  much  as  a 
tile  on  its  roof,  but  was  covered  with  turf,  and  the 
little  light  that  penetrated  to  the  two  apartments  crept 
through  a  small  pane  of  green  and  dirt-begrimed  glass. 
In  one  of  these  rooms  dwelt  Helena  and  her  mother. 
It  was  reasonably  large,  but  cold  and  damp.  The 
furniture  could  be  inventoried  at  a  glance  for,  except 
the  bare  necessities,  all  had  been  sold,  article  by  ar- 
ticle, to  procure  bread  while  their  distress  was  great- 
est, and  Mrs.  Anderson,  so  Helena's  mother  was  called, 
now  had  in  her  miserable  hut  nothing  more  than  a 
bed,  a  table,  and  three  rickety  chairs. 

It  was  the  morning  following  Helena's  visit  to  Mau- 
rits.  The  poor  girl  stood  before  the  fireplace,  shiver- 
ing with  cold,  endeavoring  vainly  to  blow  to  a  blaze 
a  few  soggy  sticks  of  wood  that  lay  smoking  in  the 
ashes,  in  the  effort  to  induce  warmth  enough  to  boil  a 
few  drops  of  milk  for  her  sick  mother  who  was  com- 
plaining bitterly  of  an  unquenchable  thirst.  But, 
unable  to  start  the  fire,  and  not  daring  to  give  her 
mother  the  milk  cold  as  it  was,  she  burst  into  a  wail. 

"I  can't  help  it,  mamma!"  said  she,  half  crying, 
"the  miserable  sticks  will  not  burn.  I  tried  a  few 

301 


362  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

minutes  ago  to  beg  a  few  dry  ones  from  Mrs.  Gron- 
lund,  but  she  said  she  had  none  too  much  for  her  own 
use. " 

"God  help  us,  my  poor  girl!"  the  mother  cried. 
"We  shall  surely  freeze  to  death  if  the  winter  contin- 
ues so  severe,  and  I  in  such  miserable  health,  unable 
to  earn  anything  by  washing.  What  will  become  of 
you,  what  will  become  of  us!" 

And  Mrs.  Anderson  tossed  herself  to  and  fro  upon 
her  wretched  bed. 

"Maybe  the  splendid  young  man  who  spoke  to.  me 
at  Mr.  Sterner's  yesterday  wi41  come  and  help  us. 
You  remember,  I  told  you  about  him  last  evening 
when  I  returned  home. " 

"Oh!  my  dear  child,  those  gentlemen  were  only 
amusing  themselves  with  you.  W7hat  should  they  see 
to  admire  or  care  for,  in  such  a  poor  little  creature  as 
3Tou?  They  have  surely  other  things  to  think  of  than 
charity.  If  you  were  full  grown,  it  might  be,  but  you 
are  yet  only  a  child." 

"And  why  should  they  care  more  for  me  if  I  were 
full  grown?"  asked  Helena  innocently. 

"You  cannot  understand,  my  child.  There  will  be 
time  enough  for  you  to  learn  it.  Well,  have  you  the 
fire  started?" 

"Yes,  it  will  burn,  I  think.  Are  you  very  ill  to-day, 
mamma?" 

"No,  I  feel  somewhat  better  now.  This  is  not  my 
day  for  a  chill,  but  I  am  very  faint,  and  it  is  so  dread- 
fully cold  here." 

"Mr.  Sterner  promised  to  get  us  some  wood  to-day," 
said  Helena.  "Oh,  how  good  he  is!  He  lent  me  his 
guitar,  and  I  sang  the  'Alpine  girl'  for  him." 

"Yes,  he  is  very    kind-hearted,  the    dear  man,"  said 


GOD'S  FINGER  363 

the  woman,  "but  extremely  poor.  He  has  barely 
clothes  enough  to  cover  his  nakedness,  and  yet  he 
studies  diligently  night  and  day.  I  remember  he  said 
to  me  last  Christmas,  'Mrs.  Anderson,  I  have  no  can- 
dle to-day  and  neither  have  I  any  money,  but  I  shall 
have  some  in  the  morning.  If  you  have  a  candle  to 
spare,  please  fetch  it.  You  shall  have  two  in  return 
in  the  morning.'  I  at  once  ran  home  after  a  small 
candle  and  took  it  to  him,  and  the  next  day  he  sent 
me  two  large  ones  in  payment.  I  would  not  accept 
them,  for  I  thought  it  a  sin,  but  he  became  vexed  and 
said  I  must  take  them,  and  Christmas  night  he  gave 
me  an  apron  and  twenty-four  skillings,  though  he 
had  nothing  more  for  his  supper  than  a  few  rusks  and 
a  cup  of  milk  that  I  bought  for  him  at  Mrs.  Berg- 
lund's.  And  there  he  sat  the  whole  evening,  reading 
the  Bible,  while  his  comrades  were  out  at  the  tavern 
making  merry." 

Helena  listened  with  manifest  pleasure  to  her  moth- 
er's story,  and  with  such  attention  that  she  quite  for- 
got to  blow  the  fire,  now  about  to  die  out  again. 

"Set  the  pan  on,  child,"  said  her  mother,  "so 
that  I  may  have  something  with  which  to  warm  my 
stomach.  We  shall  see  whether  Mr.  Sterner  keeps  his 
word,  and  sends  the  wood.  I  am  much  more  certain 
that  he  will  than  that  the  other  gentleman  will  get  us 
a  better  room  and  give  us  clothes.  What  was  the 
gentleman^s  name?" 

"I  don't  know,  mamma,  but  Mr.  Sterner  called  him 
baron,  t  heard  some  name,  but  have  forgotten  it.  Let 
me  see,  I  think  it  was  something  like  Ehren — Ehren- 
jelm  ' 

"Girl!"  shrieked  the  mother,  springing  to  a  sitting 
posture,  and  throwing  the  long  black  locks  back  from 
her  forehead,  "girl,  was  his  name  Ehrenstam?." 


THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Yes, that  is  it,  I  believe,"  answered  Helena  art- 
lessly, "but  why  are  you  so  disturbed?  Surely  you 
have  never  heard  of  him  before. " 

"Have  I  not!  Yes,  I  have  heard  the  name  to  my 
everlasting  sorrow  and  shame,"  muttered  the  woman 
in  low  tones.  "Oh,  my  God!  maybe  he  is  of  the  same 
family. " 

"What  do  you  say,  mother?"  inquired  Helena, 
alarmed  at  her  mother's  disquiet  and  hastening  to  her 
bedside;  "what  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  is  the  matter 
with  you?" 

"Oh!  it  is  nothing,"  muttered  the  mother,  "attend 
to  your  pan  or  the  milk  will  boil  over.  O,  Jacob, 
Jacob!" 

"Jacob,  mother,"  said  the  girl,  "who  was  he?  I 
have  often  heard  you  mention  that  name.  Perhaps  it 
was  my  father?  " 

"Yes,  my  girl,  your  father's  name  was  Jacob." 

"And  is  he  dead?" 

"Yes,  he  is — dead,"  stammered  the  woman,  barely 
making  herself  heard.  "O,  my  God!"  continued  she 
to  herself,  "my  sin  has  been  sorely  punished.  I  can- 
not tell  the  child  whether  or  not  her  father  lives.  I 
do  not  myself  know." 

At  this  instant,  the  door  to  the  cottage  was  violent- 
ly thrown  open,  and  George  Ehrenstam  presented  him- 
self on  the  threshold. 

As  if  a  ghost  had  suddenly  appeared  before  her,  the 
sick  woman  uttered  a  cry,  and  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands  at  sight  of  her  visitor.  'It  is  he,"  she  cried 
in  terror,  "or  it  is  his  spirit.  But  he  is  dead,  was 
murdered,  I  have  been  told.  It  was  long  ago,  and  he 
looks  so  young,  a  child  in  comparison  with  my  false 
betrayer.  No,  it  must  be  a  relative.  His  brother, 


GOD'S    FINGER  365 

probably.  The  ways  of  the  Lord  are  wonderful,  and 
it  may  be  this  one  will  do  good  to  atone  for  the  crime 
of  the  other." 

If  the  poor  woman  could  have  penetrated  the  design 
of  the  youth,  she  would  not  have  thought  it  God's 
providence,  but  fate. 

Meantime,  George  had  neared  Helena,  who,  timid 
and  embarrassed,  continued  at  the  fireplace  blowing 
the  fire. 

"Good  morning,  my  pretty  child,"  said  he,  patting 
her  upon  the  cheek,  "do  you  recognize  me?" 

"Yes,  Herr  Baron,"  answered  the  young  girl, 
blushing  red  as  a  rose,  "it  was  you  who  yesterday — 

"Promised  to  take  care  of  you,"  said  George.  "Ex- 
actly, and  I  have  come  to  fulfill  my  promises  now.  Is 
that  poor  woman  your  mother?" 

"Yes,  sir. " 

George  advanced  to  the  bed,  where  Mrs.  Anderson 
still  sat  with  her  face  hidden  in  her  hands. 

"You  are  quite  ill,  poor  woman,"  said  he  in  sympa- 
thetic tones,  "it  is  also  cold  and  damp  here.  Feeble 
as  you  are,  you  will  die  if  you  remain  in  this  wretched 
hut." 

The  sick  woman  withdrew  her  hands  from  her  eyes? 
and  glared  at  the  youth  with  a  look  so  full  of  hate 
and  menace  that  he  instinctively  drew  back  in  alarm. 
He  was  soon  composed,  however,  and  again  approached 
the  bed. 

"Your  mother's  mind  wanders,"  said  he,  addressing 
the  girl. 

"Yes,  mamma  has  been  a  little  flighty  at  times." 

"Get  thee  gone!  Get  thee  gone,  Satan,"  muttered 
the  woman,  smiting  the  air  as  one  raving;  "you 
tempt  me  in  vain!" 


366  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Mamma!  "  cried  Helena  anxiously,  "what  are  you 
talking  about?  It  is  the  kind  young  man  of  whom  I 
spoke  to  you  yesterday  evening.  It  is  he  who  would 
help  us." 

"Ah,  is  it  he!"  said  the  poor  woman,  as  if  waking 
from  a  dream.  "What  does  the  gentleman  want?" 

"I  think  it  is  a  pity  that  you  and  your  pretty  daugh- 
ter should  be  so  situated.  I  am  come  to  aid  you,  and 
to  provide  a  better  place  of  residence,  clothes,  and 
food,  and  whatever  else  you  may  require.  Your  daugh- 
ter sings  like  an  angel.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing 
her  yesterday,  and  wish  to  provide  her  an  opportunity 
to  develop  her  talent.  She  will  be  a  great  songstress 
in  time." 

"What  is  your  name,  sir?"  said  the  sick  woman 
curtly 

"George  Ehrenstam." 

"Have  you  any  brothers?" 

"No,  but  a  sister." 

"Have  you  had  a  brother?" 

"Yes,  a  half-brother.  But  how  does  that  concern 
you?" 

"And  your  brother  was  murdered!"  shrieked  the 
woman  violently. 

"Yes,"  said  George,  surprised,  "he  was  murdered  a 
number  of  years  ago.  But  how  in  the  world  do  you 
know  that?" 

"And  is  it  not  certain  that  you  are  sent  here  by  Sa- 
tan to  add  to  the  misfortunes  of  my  daughter  and  my- 
self!" she  shrieked  as  one  deranged;  "is  it  not  quite 
certain!" 

"Your  mother  is  surely  out  of  her  mind,"  said  George 
coldly,  turning  to  Helena,  "she  wanders." 

"Forgive  her,  barcn,"  said    Helena    half    crying,  "I 


GOD'S    FINGER  367 

cannot  imagine  what  has  so  moved  her.  She  has 
never  been  so  before. " 

"She  seems  to  have  a  knowledge  of  the  affairs  of  my 
family,"  said  George.  "How  is  it  possible  that  she 
could  have  obtained  it?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Helena;  "but  speak, 
mother,"  continued  she,  turning  to  her  mother,  "what 
is  wrong  with  you?" 

"I  am  better  now,  my  girl,"  said  the  sick  woman, 
recovering  herself.  "I  was  a  little  flighty  just  now, 
I  fear.  Forgive  me,  sir,  that  I  manifested  such  feel- 
ing at  the  mention  of  your  name.  It  came  about  be- 
cause of  my  having  lived  during  my  childhood  near 
the  spot  where  your  brother  was  murdered,  where  I 
heard  it  spoken  of  frequently.  It  was  the  horror  of 
the  circumstances  that  so  wrought  upon  me." 

"Ah,  indeed,"  said  George,  "let  us  then  get  to  the 
purpose  of  my  coming  here.  I  am  rich  and  I  am  in- 
terested in  your  daughter.  I  have  determined  to  help 
her  forward  upon  the  path  which  I  have  been  informed 
was  once  laid  out  for  her.  You  are  acquainted  with 
Mr.  Sterner?" 

"Yes,,  I  have  taken  care  of  his  rooms  for  several 
months." 

"Well, we  have  made  this  arrangement.  He  is  to  give 
Helena  daily  instruction  in  such  branches  of  every- 
day education  as  are  required  by  her,  and  I  am  to  pro- 
vide the  necessaries  of  life,  and  pay  for  her  lessons  in 
music,  for  which  she  has  an  unusual  genius.  At  the 
expiration  of  a  yeat,  I  am  to  get  her  a  place  in  the 
theater  at  Stockholm,  and,  if  all  goes  well,  before 
many  years,  she  will  be  one  of  our  most  renowned 
singers.  What  do  you  say  to  this?" 

An  indefinable  foreboding    of    danger    seized     Mrs. 


368  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Anderson  at  these  tempting  offers  but  she  banished  it 
as  groundless,  and,  besides,  she  loved  her  daughter 
so  dearly  that  she  found  herself  incapable  of  saying 
no. 

"Baron,"  said  she,  after  a  few  minutes  of  medita- 
tion, "I  do  not  know  you,  but  if  you  are  doing  this  in 
conjunction  with  Mr.  Sterner,  as  you  represent,  I  must 
believe  your  motives  good,  for  he  would  not  be  party 
to  an  act  that  would  add  to  .our  misfortunes.  Am  I 
right?" 

Despite  his  callousness  and  usual  assurance,  the 
young  baron  could  not  face  the  frank  questioning  of 
the  poor  woman  whose  only  child  he  would  rear  to  a 
life  of  shame,  and  fastened  his  eyes  in  embarrassment 
upon  the  floor.  His  confusion  did  not  last  long,  how- 
ever, and  his  answer  came  calmly:  — 

"How  can  you  ask  such  questions,  madame?  I  de- 
sign further  troubles  for  you?  It  were  truly  a  strange 
way  of  preparing  one's  destruction  to  proffer  her  sup- 
port." 

Quieted  by  George's  calm  tones  and  innocent  man- 
ner (for  the  young  man  had  already  learned  how  to 
mold  his  expression  of  face  to  suit  the  occasion)  the 
woman  answered:  — 

"Then,  with  heart-felt  thanks,  I  accept  your  gener- 
ous offer.  My  daughter  must  possess  extraordinary 
talent  to  interest  you  to  such  a  degree.  May  she  ful- 
fill the  hopes  you  entertain  for  her  future." 

"And  you,  little  Helena,  what  have  you  to  say  about 
it?"  asked  George,  patting  the  girl's  head. 

Helena  nodded  and  blushed.  Half  crying,  she 
stammered  her  gratitude.  Unconscious  of  the  impend- 
ing danger,  she  could  hardly  restrain  herself  from 
dancing  with  joy  at  the  brilliant  prospect  so  unexpect- 
edly opened  put  before  her. 


GOD'S    FINGER  369 

"Prepare  then  to  move  into  a  suite  of  neat  rooms 
that  I  have  already  rented  for  you,"  said  George. 
"You  are  not  so  ill,  I  think,  my  dear  madame,  that 
you  cannot  go  out?" 

"No,  indeed,"  said  the  woman,  all  scruples  now  ban- 
ished, and  as  if  endowed  with  new  life  at  sight  of  the 
good  fortune  that  had  visited  her  and  her  daughter; 
"no,  indeed,  I  feel  as  fresh  as  a  young  girl.  Where 
are  we  to  live,  dear  baron?" 

George  gave  her  the  name  of  the  street  and  the  house 
number,  and  added:  "You  need  no  longer  take  care 
of  students'  rooms,  madame.  I  will  give  you  a  month- 
ly allowance,  sufficient  to  support  you,  and  you  ma}', 
if  you  will,  earn  a  little  with  )-our  needle  to  help 
along." 

"That  I  will,"  cried  the  woman  cheerily.  "I  will 
sew  all  day  long,  if  I  can  only  get  work  enough." 

"I'll  get  you  work.  What  can  you  sew,  for  in- 
stance? " 

"I  can  make  shirts  and  night  gowns  and,  besides,  I 
have  done  washing  for  the  students." 

''No,  that  you  shall  not  do  hereafter,"  said  George. 
"If  Helena  must  help  she  would  spoil  her  hands.  I 
would  much  prefer  to  give  you  all  the  money  you  re* 
quire.  And,  moreover,  your,  daughter  is  not  to  be 
burdened  with  any  kind  of  work.  She  is  to  read,  play 
and  sing,  nothing  more." 

"Ah!  she  will  then  be  a  perfect  lady!"  said  the 
mother,  regarding  her  daughter  with  pride..  "But  you 
must  not  desert  your  poor  mother,  Helena." 

"How  can  you  think  of  such  a  thing,  mamma!"  ex- 
claimed the  girl,  tears  welling  up  in  her  eyes.  "Could 
1  do  other  than  love  you,  you  who  have  been  so  kind 
to  me!" 


370  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"It  is  settled,  then,"  said  George.  "Prepare  now 
to  move.  In  an  hour,  I  will  return  'and  conduct  you 
to  your  new  home.  Until  then,  farewell!"  and,  open- 
ing the  door,  he  departed. 

"Is  it  a  dream!"  cried  Helena,  leaping  into  the  air 
with  joy.  "No,  it  is  a  reality!  I  am  to  learn  to  sing, 
play  and  read,  as  was  designed  for  me  by  my  former 
good  patron  in  Stockholm.  O,  isn't  it  delightful!" 

"It  is  God' swill,  I  see  clearly, "  muttered  the  mother 
to  herself.  "It  were  a  sin,  therefore,  to  oppose  it. 
One  brother  was  the  cause  of  our  misfortunes,  where- 
upon God  sends  the  other  to  rescue  us  from  our  distress. 
O,  Father,  thy  ways  are  wonderful!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

GEORGE 

"Does  Mrs.  Anderson  live  here?"  asked  Maurits,  a 
few  hours  later  in  the  forenoon,  approaching  a  little 
house  in  Svartsback  Street,  and  accosting  an  elderly 
woman  who  was  busied  on  the  porch  scaling  fish  The 
person  addressed  was  Madame  Gronlund,  a  fat,  florid- 
faced  matron  of  several  and  fifty  years,  the  occupant 
of  the  second  of  the  two  rooms  in  the  miserable  hut. 

"No,"  answered  Madame  Grcnlund,  "she  has  been 
ennobled,  I  think,  and  could  no  longer  dwell  in  such 
plebeian  quarters.  I  believe  she  has  received  an  in- 
heritance, at  the  least,  for  she  informed  me  she  should 
move  to  Vaxala  Street,  and  have  two  rooms;  that  she 
need  not  work  any  more,  and  that  her  daughter,  the 
little  minx,  is  to  be  a  lady  of  renown  in  time.  There 
was  a  young  man  here  this  morning,  and  it  was  he,  I 
understand,  who  procured  the  rooms  for  them.  But 
what  she  can  have  to  do  with  him,  is  more  than  I  can 
comprehend.  The  girl  is  too  young, and  the  mother  too 
old  for  such  a  young  blood  to  court.  They  had  be- 
come so  stuck  up  already  that  they  would  hardly  look 
at  me  when  they  left. " 

"They  have  gone,  then!  "  said  Maurits,  interrupting 
the  woman's  flow  of  words. 

"Yes,  sir,  as  I  said,  and  they  did  not  even  take  with 
them  the  goods  they  had  here.  They  have  no  further 
use  for  such  ordinary  things;  maybe  they  are  to  have 

371 


372  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

cushioned  chairs,  a    sofa,    and  a    mattress;  but    pride 
goes  before  a  fall.  " 

"I  have  come  too  late,"  said  Maurits  to  himself, 
turning  away.  "The  evil  is  already  done  and  it  may 
be  impossible  now  to  avoid  the  consequences.  He  is 
quick  in  the  execution  of  his  designs,  this  fellow.  Ah, 
surely,  perhaps  this  woman  knows  in  which  house  they 
may  be  found. " 

Maurits  returned,  and  inquired  of  the  woman  if  she 
could  give  him  any  more  definite  information  as  to 
the  present  whereabouts  of  the  objects  of  his  search. 

"No,  I  know  absolutely  nothing  more,"  said  Ma- 
dame Gronlund.  'But,  if  the  gentleman  will  pay  me  I 
will  run  out  and  try  to  learn  something  further." 

"Oh,  no,  that  is  not  necessary,"  said  Maurits,  smile 
ing,  "I'll  find  them,  no  doubt,  without  much  trouble. 
Moreover,  it  is  not  of  great  consequence. " 

"What  is  to  be  done?"  muttered  the  young  man,  as 
he  slowly  paced  the  street.  "That  little  girl  interests 
me  deeply.  I  can  hardly  say  why.  If  it  is  George's 
plan  to  have  her  for  a  mistress  as  Holm  insinuated,  I 
must  endeavor  to  thwart  him.  Her  young,  inexperienced 
heart  could  soon  be  trained  to  cling  to  her  benefac- 
tor. Ah,  Monsieur  George,  there  will  be  a  watchful  eye 
upon  you!  I  will  be  in  the  way  of  the  consummation 
of  your  scheme,  and  it  shall  be  my  revenge  for  the  cut 
given  me  in  my  childhood  with  your  whip.  But,  when 
I  consider  the  mother,  I  can  hardly  bring  myself  to 
believe  in  the  possibility  of  George's  undertaking  such 
a  thing.  He  is  surely  too  young." 

A  powerful  blow  upon  the  shoulder  interrupted 
Maurits'  train  of  thought. 

"Thinking  of  marriage,  Maurits?"  shouted  jolly 
Albert  Broman,  grasping  him  by  the  arm.  "I  have 


GEORGE  373 

tramped  the  length  of  the  street, shouting  myself  hoarse 
at  you,  but  you  did  not  hear  me.  What  sort  of  an 
ants'  nest  have  you  in  your  head  now?" 

"I  have  not  thought  of  marrying/1  said  Maurits, 
"but  I  was  pondering  how  I  may  prevent  a  'left  handed 
marriage.'" 

"What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  by  that!" 

"You  remember,  probably,  the  young  girl,  my  house- 
keeper's  daughter,  about  whom  we  were  speaking  yes- 
terday?" 

"The  little  Helena  that  Ehrenstam,  or  whatever  his 
name  is,  would  bring  up  in  conjunction  with  you,  you 
philanthropist!  Well,  what  about  her?" 

Maurits  related  what  had  happened,  and  disclosed 
his  suspicions  regarding  George's  mysterious  plans. 

"We  will  keep  an  eye  to  the  little  innocent,  depend 
upon  it.  She  is  too  good  for  that  whelp  of  nobility, 
who,  relying  upon  his  wealth,  believes  that  he  may 
play  the  villain  with  impunity.  But  we  will  outwit 
him,  and,  after  he  has  been  allowed  to  spend  a  hand- 
some sum  upon  her,  we  will  snatch  the  young  victim 
from  him.  She  is  just  now,  at  any  rate,  so  young  that 
you,  who  are  to  be  her  teacher,  may  be  able  to  imbue 
her  with  a  thousand  virtues,  only  beware  that  you  do 
not  yourself  fall  in  love,  to  cap  the  climax." 

"Have  no  fear,"  said  Maurits.  "But  I  must  go  now 
and  hunt  up  George  to  ask  him  what  he  has  done 
with  our  protege".  I  have  no  idea  where  they  live." 

"I'll  go  with  you  a  ways,"  said  Albert.  "But  it  just 
occurs  to  me  that  to-day  is  your  birthday,  and  you 
have  already  opened  that  secret  package." 

"Yes,"  said  Maurits,  "I  have  opened  it." 

"And  its  contents,  brother?  You  are  as  rich  as 
CDESUS;  I  can  see  as  much  in  your  face.  Those  pa- 
pers have  been  worth  a  gold  mine;  is  it  not  so?" 


374  THE   PLAY  OF  FATE 

"No,  no,"  answered  Maurits,  "they  do  not  change 
my  circumstances  in  the  least.  I  remain  as  poor  as 
ever.  But,  earnestly,  my  dear  Albert,  though  I  would 
gladly  do  so,  I  cannot  confide  to  you  the  contents  of 
those  papers.  It  must  remain  a  secret  for  the  pres- 
ent." 

"Very  well,  retain  it  then,"  said  Albert  somewhat 
displeased.  "It  seems  to  me,  nevertheless,  that  you 
might  have  confidence  in  me.  You  know  very  well 
that  I  would  not,  under  any  circumstances,  abuse  your 
confidence.  As  you  will,  however.  Let  us  go  on." 

"Young  Ehrenstam  lives  here,"  said  Maurits,  halt- 
ing before  a  large  house. 

"Are  you  going  up  to  see  him?"" 

"Yes,  it  is  necessary." 

"Farewell  then!  "  and  Albert  passed  on. 

"He  is  nettled,"  said  Maurits  to  himself,  "but  I 
dare  not  confide  my  secret  to  him,  for,  though  I  do  not 
doubt  his  friendship,  I  may  reasonably  fear  that  in  a 
moment  of  over  joy  he  would  let  some  word  escape 
him,  and  that  I  wish  to  avoid.'" 

Hereupon  Maurits  entered  the  house. 

"Does  Baron  Ehrenstam  live  here?"  he  inquired  of 
a  young  girl  whom  he  met  on  the  stairs. 

"Yes,  there  is  a  young  man  of  that  name  lodging 
here,  a  recent  comer.  Up  two  flights  of  stairs,  please." 

Maurits  followed  instructions  and  was  soon  stand- 
ing before  a  door  upon  which  was  tacked  a  calling 
card  bearing  the  name,  'George  Ehrenstam."  He 
opened  the  door  and  entered. 

George  was  stretched  listlessly  upon  a  sofa,  smoking 
a  cigar.  Before  him  stood  a  table  on  which  lay  sev. 
eral  handsomely  bound  books  that  had  the  appearance' 
of  being  very  little  used.  The  room  was  large  and 


GKORGE  375 

elegantly  furnished.  The  door  to  an  adjoining  bed- 
chamber stood  open,  and  beyond  this  there  seemed  to 
be  a  room  which  might  be  used  as  a  dressing-room. 
Mauri ts'  brows  contracted  a  little  at  sight  of  such  lux- 
ury  in  a  student's  room.  He  greeted  George  politely, 
however,  and  the  latter  rose,  and,  advancing,  extended 
his  hand. 

"Welcome!"  said  he  with  an  engaging  smile  "Be 
seated,  and  have  a  cigar.  I  pride  myself  upon  my 
ability  to  proffer  you  pure  havanas. " 

Maurits  thanked  him  and,  lighting  his  cigar,  took 
a  seat. 

"You  live  like  a  prince,  my  dear  baron!  "  exclaimed 
he. 

"Why  not?"  said  George  carelessly.  "I  had  a  mind 
to  take  a  whole  floor,  but  it  was  not  possible  to  find 
just  what  I  wanted,  wherefore  I  was  obliged  to  con- 
tent myself  with  these  three  poor  rooms.  I  had  three 
times  as  many  during  my  sojourn  in  Stockholm  last 
winter." 

Maurits  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  remained  silent. 

The  young  man  was  at  a  loss  to  know  how  to  in- 
troduce the  subject  of  his  visit.  He  hesitated  to 
wound  him,  for,  knowing  George's  irritable  and  arro- 
gant nature,  he  feared  an  irreparable  breach  that  might 
possibly  deprive  him  of  his  part  in  the  education  of 
the  young  girl  in  whom  the  two  young  men,  their  mo- 
tives very  different,  were  interested. 

George  was  the  first  to  address  himself  to  the  sub- 
ject. 

"You  are  come,  I  suppose,"  said  he,  "for  the  pur- 
pose of  discussing  the  future  of  our  young  ward,  the 
little  girl  from  Svartsback  Street." 

"Yes,"  said  Maurits,  "I    am  anxious  to    know    what 


THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

you  have    done    with  her,  for    I   heard    at   her  former 
dwelling-place  that  she  had  already  gone." 

"They  reside  now  in  King  Street,  the  Vaxala  House," 
said  George.  "I  have  rented  two  neat  rooms,  and 
have  taken  measures  to  provide  the  girl  with  a  teacher 
of  music.  She  is  to  begin  her  lessons  at  once,  I  to 
pay  tor  them.  I  expect  to  supply  the  necessary  funds 
for  their  daily  wants  also.  But  how  about  her  other 
instruction?  Will  you  undertake  to  teach  her  language 
and  history,  Mr.  Sterner?  Perhaps  you  are  already 
too  much  taken  up  with  your  own  lessons?" 

"No,"  answered  Maurits,  "I  will  set  aside  a  few  hoprs 
of  each  day  for  the  little  girl.  I  will  instruct  her  at 
her  home  as  likely  to  be  most  convenient." 

"That  is  what  I  was  thinking,"  said  George.  "We 
will  visit  them  in  company  to-morrow  morning,  if  you 
wish.  They  will  be  more  presentable  than  to-day,  for 
I  have  seen  to  it  that  they  shall  have  some  becoming 
clothes,  instead  of  their  former  rags." 

"It  must  be  a  great  pleasure  to  you,  baron,"  said 
Maurits,  with  a  tinge  of  irony  in  his  words,  "to  be 
able  to  do  so  much  good.  You  are  employing  your 
riches  in  a  truly  noble  manner  to  do  such  a  noble 
deed,  your  sole  dictator — love  for  human  kind.  ' 

George  dropped  his  eyes  for  a  second.  He  understood 
that  Maurits  had  begun  to  mistrust  him,  and  he  was 
exceedingly  anxious  to  dispel  every  cloud  of  suspicion 
from  the  mind  of  his  co-worker,  fearing  that  Maurits 
would  otherwise  exercise  his  influence  over  the  girl, 
and,  possibly,  lay  bare  to  Helena  and  her  mother  his 
scheme,  causing  them  to  suspect  and  fear  him,  and 
thus  thwart  him. 

Lifting  his  eyes  finally,  he  exclaimed:  "You  do  not 
know  how  you  embarrass  me  with  your  praise,  Mr. 
Sterner." 


GEORGE  377 

"Why  so?"  inquired  Maurits,  in  surprise. 

"Because  I  do  not  merit  it,  for,  you  shall  know, 
though  I  am  yet  barely  eighteen,  I  have  already  com- 
mitted a  great  many  follies.  I  have  thoughtlessly 
thrown  away  great  sums  of  money  in  pleasures  which 
have  left  nothing  but  emptiness  and  loathing  in  my 
soul.  My  father,  who  is  immeasurably  rich,  has  not 
had  the  strength  to  deny  me  anything  from  my  earliest 
childhood,  in  consequence  of  which  I  was  very  early 
in  the  full  whirl  of  dissipations  such  as  are  bought 
with  gold.  But  I  assure  you  that  I  now  find  a  much 
greater  satisfaction  in  the  outlay  of  the  few  hundred 
dollars  in  aiding  this  poor  woman  and  her  daughter 
than  I  enjoyed  from  the  many  thousands  I  threw  away 
in  Stockholm  in  a  few  months.  It  was  the  recollection 
of  the  shameful  life  I  have  heretofore  led  that  caused 
me,  a  few  minutes  ago,  to  drop  my  glance  for  an  in- 
stant when  you  were  praising  me  for  my  generosity. 
I  felt  a  consciousness  that,  except  the  case  under  dis- 
cussion, I  could  hardly  count  an  instance  of  generos- 
ity in  my  whole  life. " 

Maurits  did  not  answer.  He  hardly  knew  what  to 
think,  so  astonished  was  he  at  George's  unexpected 
utterances.  He  eyed  him  closely,  but  in  George's  face 
he  could  see  nothing  but  the  utmost  candor,  and  not 
a  feature  betrayed  that  his  sole  purpose  was  to  pull 
the  wool  over  Maurits'  eyes. 

"But,  my  dear  Mr.  Sterner,"  resumed  George  in  a 
patronizing  tone,  "I  some  time  ago  determined  to 
mend  my  ways,  and  do  some  good,  if  possible.  I 
know  it  will  bring  me  greater  satisfaction  than  all  the 
boisterous  pleasures  in  which  I  have  heretofore  partic- 
ipated. My  father  gives  me  ten  thousand  riks-dollars 
a  year  to  use  as  I  wish.  I  acknowledge  that  I  am 


37&  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

somewhat  selfish  so  far,  at  least,  that  I  will  live 
comfortably,  eat  well  and  dress  well,  since  providence 
has  been  pleased  to  bestow  upon  me  such  abundant 
riches.  Understand  me  correctly,  I  regard  this  as 
my  right,  so  long  as  I  employ  the  surplus  of  my  yearly 
allowance  in  relieving  the  wants  of  the  needy.  I  have 
made  a  sacred  vow  to  so  use  it.  I  recognize  fully  the 
justice  of  the  socialistic  teachings  that  the  rich 
ought  to  provide  for  the  poor,  if  he  will  not  make 
himself  unworthy  the  power  for  which  he  may  thank 
good  fortund  alone.  You  shall  assist  me  in  the  car- 
rying out  of  my  plans." 

"I?" 

"Yes,  of  course.  When  you  discover  one,  needy, 
and  deserving  help,  come  to  me.  You  shall  bestow 
alms  in  my  stead,  for  I  prefer  not  to  be  known  my- 
self. I  blush  almost  that  I  did  not  better  disguise 
my  plans  to  assist  Helena  and  her  mother,  but  I  did 
not  think  of  it  in  time  You  may  be  sure,  however,  I 
did  not  enter  their  presence  for  the  purpose,  or  with 
a  design  to  earn  their  thanks,  and  renown  for  my 
benefactions.  Hereafter,  when  I  wish  to  do  works  of 
charity,  I  will  have  no  other  confidant  than  you,  and 
you  will  not  betray  me,  I  hope." 

George's  tones  were  so  sincere,  his  countenance  ex- 
pressed such    earnestness  and    truthfulness  at    the  in- 
stant, that  Maurits,     feeling  it  impossible  that  one  so 
youthful  could  be  so  trained  in  artifice,  was  complete 
ly  deceived. 

Though  he  had  suffered  during  his  childhood,  Mau- 
rits had  seen  little  of  the  world.  Busied  with  his 
books,  he  had  wholly  neglected  to  study  mankind. 
There  remained  for  him  therefore  many  bitter  expe- 
riences to  undergo. 


GEORGE  37Q 

The  upright  and  guileless  youth  was  charmed  by 
George's  declarations.  He  loved  to  believe  in  the 
good,  for  during  the  few  years  past  hate  and  mistrust 
instilled  into  him  from  his  boyhood  had  lost  their 
force.  He  forgot  that  the  young  man  with  whom  he 
was  now  conversing,  who  spoke  so  seemingly  from  his 
innermost  heart,  and  uttered  such  noble  sentiments, 
was  the  same  who  had  caused  his  boyish  heart  to  pul- 
sate with  anger  at  the  repeated  wrongs  done  him.  He 
forgot  Jacob  Kron's  dreadful  warning,  "Have  no  confi- 
dence in  the  rich,  my  boy,  however  honeyed  their 
words  may  be.  Believe  me,  from  Satan's  eggs  noth- 
ing but  hell-kites  can  be  hatched."  He  forgot  all 
this  and  was  completely  carried  away  by  his  feelings. 
He  grasped  George's  hand,  and  exclaimed  eagerly:  — 

"I  believe  you,  Herr  Baron!  You  are  a  nobleman  at 
heart,  although  you  may  for  a  time  have  descended 
from  your  level.  In  my  boyhood,  I  was  influenced  to 
hate  the  rich.  Incensed  against  them  because  of  un- 
deserved wrongs,  I  was  near  swearing  a  life-long  hate 
against  the  whole  class.  I  have  recovered  from  my 
delusion,  and  you  shall  strengthen  me  to  the  utmost  in 
my  present  faith.  We  will  work  together  for  our  own 
betterment  and  happiness  and  that  of  our  fellow  creat- 
ures. We  will  counsel  and  support  each  other,  and 
though  I  am  poor,  we  will,  nevertheless,  be  friends. 
Shall  it  be  so?" 

"With  all  my  heart,"  said  George,  returning  Mau- 
rits'  grasp  with  seeming  eagerness.  "I  will  endeavor 
to  make  myself  worthy  of  such  a  noble  friendship,  for, 
with  our  first  meeting,  I  was  very  much  impressed 
with  you.  You  are  moved  by  the  most  honorable  mo- 
tives. Your  life  has  been  a  chain  of  exalted  deeds. 
I  know  that  I  cannot  boast  of  such,  but  though,  as 


380  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

you  say,  I  have  been  borne  away  from  the  path  of 
rectitude,  I  am  not  wholly  lost  to  all  good  instincts. 
You  are  to  help  me  till  them  and  make  them  bear 
fruit." 

"Agreed,"  cried  Maurits  eagerly.  "I  will  confess 
freely,  Herr  Baron,  that  I  came  here  with  little  con- 
fidence in  you,  and  my  suspicions  excited  as  to  your 
motives;  a  suspicion  based  quite  naturally  upon  the 
irregularities  of  your  past  life.  I  leave  you,  honoring 
you  for  the  noble  sentiments  you  have  expressed,  the 
sincerity  of  which  I  cannot  doubt." 

"I  am  grateful,  Mr.  Sterner,  that  your  impressions 
have  so  changed  to  my  advantage.  I  will  endeavor  to 
make  myself  deserve  your  good  opinion.  But,  forgive 
me,  I  would  make  one  proposition-  since  we  are 
friends,  let  us  be  more,  let  us  be  brothers." 

"With  pleasure,"  said  Maurits,  pressing  George's 
hand,  "and  I  hope  I  can  be  all  you  would  have  in  a 
brother.  If  I  can  be  useful  to  you,  I  will  not  be  found 
wanting.  You  are  younger  than  I,  and  here  in  Upsala 
it  is  customary  for  the  seniors  to  counsel  and  guide  the 
younger.  But  farewell,  now,  George,  I'll  come  in  the 
morning,  and  we  will  go  together  to  Helena  and  her 
mother." 

George  rose  and  followed  Maurits  to  the  door 

"Ha,  ha!"  laughed  he,  when  once  more  alone.  "I 
pulled  the  wool  over  his  eyes  nicely.  He  fell  into  the 
snare,  and  is  no  longer  dangerous.  They  are  a  funny 
set, these  soft-hearted  Samaritans,  these  philanthropists 
who  spend  their  substance  doing  for  the  rabble.  How 
wholly  they  are  lacking  in  knowledge  of  human  nature, 
wherefore  it  is  not  at  all  difficult  to  lead  them  by  the 
nose.  My  dear  Maurits  Sterner,  you  are  by  no  mean 
keen-sighted  enough  to  penetrate  me,  notwithstanding 


GEORGE  381 

your  two  or  three  years  seniority.  Oh,  but  I  played 
the  repentant  sinner  charmingly!  I  wish  my  father 
could  have  seen  it." 

I  will  be  this  youth's  preceptor  in  good  deeds," 
thought  Maurits,  hunting  downstairs  with  a  light 
heart;  "I  will  teach  him  to  love  mankind  and  virtue; 
to  hate  the  base  pleasures  to  which  he  has  heretofore 
devoted  so  much  of  his  time  and  substance.  He  is 
good  at  heart  and  his  missteps  have  been  the  out- 
growth of  over-indulgence  on  the  part  of  his  proud  and 
egotistical  parents.  But  he  is  now  away  from  their 
influence.  His  instincts  are  good,  though  nearly 
smothered,  and  they  may  yet  be  brought  to  life.  Riches 
and  excesses  have  not  yet  wholly  spoiled  him.  He 
needs  only  a  leader.  I  will  appoint  myself  to  the 
office.  It  shall  be  my  revenge  for  all  the  wrongs 
suffered  at  his  hands  and  those  of  other  members  of 
his  family  during  my  childhood." 


CHAPTER    VII 

THE   TWO  TEACHERS 

We  will  hasten  over  a  period  of  a  few  months,  and 
conduct  the  reader,  on  a  sunny  afternoon  early  in  the 
month  of  June  of  the  same  year,  to  the  beautiful  and 
elegantly  furnished  apartments  in  King  Street,  occu- 
pied by  Helena  and  her  mother. 

Madame  Anderson  has  changed  almost  beyond  recog- 
nition since  we  last  saw  her  in  the  miserable  hut  in 
Svartsback  Street.  She  is  no  longer  shaking  with  the 
ague  and,  though  her  outward  attire  is  only  a  neat 
dress  of  dark  plaid  wool,  her  whole  appearance  is  one 
of  prosperity  and  contentment.  She  is  seated  at  the 
window,  sewing.  On  the  long  side  of  the  room  is  a 
sofa,  on  which,  leaning  over  a  table,  sits  Helena, 
busily  employed  with  a  book. 

Helena  has  developed  not  a  little  both  in  body  and 
mind  during  the  few  months  past.  She  is  now  almost 
fifteen,  and  the  pretty  little  miss  is  about  to  blossom 
into  the  beautiful  young  woman.  Her  form  has  be- 
gun to  assume  a  charming  fullness,  and  her  rich  chest 
nut  brown  hair  falls  in  luxuriant  waves  over  her  soft 
cheeks  on  which  still  repose,-  in  spring-like  freshness, 
the  roses  of  innocence  and  health.  Her  dark  brown 
eyes,  fringed  with  black  lashes,  we  are  unable  to  see 
clearly,  as  they  are  continually  on  the  pages  of  her 
book. 

A  pure,  undeveloped  child  heart,  not  yet    seared  by 

382 


THE   TWO   TEACHERS  383 

passion's  scorching  breath,  beat  full  and  warm  beneath 
a  gently  swelling  bosom,  white  as  new-fallen  snow. 
Her  lips,  twin  cherries,  are  moved  for  an  instant  in 
a  smile.  She  is  reading  a  romance,  the  first  she  has 
ever  seen,  and  she  laughs  at  the  characters  portrayed 
by  the  author.  Helena's  dress  is  not  of  costly  mate- 
rial, but  well  made  and  fitting  neatly  the  nymph-like 
form.  From  under  her  dress  protrudes  a  foot  clad  in  a 
morocco  slipper  so  small  that  it  might  answer  for  a 
child  of  six  instead  of  a  maiden  approaching  sixteen. 

"What  are  you  reading,  my  child?"  asked  the 
mother,  glancing  at  her  idolized  daughter;  "it  must 
be  something  very  pleasing.  You  laugh." 

"It  is  a  book  lent  me  by  Baron  George.  It  is  very 
amusing. 

"I'm  astonished.  I  supposed  you  read  only  such 
books  as  were  given  you  by  Mr.  Sterner.  Does  he 
know  that  you  have  it?" 

"No."  said  Helena,  somewhat  curtly,  "and  he  need 
not  know  it,  either.  Mr.  Sterner  is  truly  very  good, 
but  he  is  so  dreadfully  serious, and  will  never  allow  me 
to  read  anything  that  is  pleasing.  He  would  have  me 
eternally  conjugating  and  declining. reading  history  and 
studying  geography,  but  one  tires  of  such  things  after 
a  time,  my  dear  mother.  Wherefore,  Baron  George 
has  promised  to  lend  me  some  novels,  now  and  then, 
with  which  to  divert  myself.  I  think  a  great  deal  of 
both  gentlemen,"  continued  Helena,  "yet  if  I  were 
choosing  between  them  for  a  husband,  I  should  much, 
prefer  George.  He  is  so  full  of  life  and  so  clever 
while  Mr.  Sterner  is  so  serious,  so  stern,  and  does 
little  else  than  moralize.  Moreover,  we  are  much 
more  indebted  to  George,  for  he  has  informed  me  that 
he  is  supporting  us,  and  that  Mr.  Sterner  is  very  poor; 


384  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

also  that  it  is  merely  to  gratify  a  v/him  that  he  is 
allowed  to  instruct  me,  and  that  I  might  have  a  paid 
teacher  just  as  in  music,  if  I  choose.  But,  as  Mr. 
Sterner  seems  to  find  a  pleasure  in  teaching  me,  he 
will  not  oppose  him  if  he  can  be  gratified  at  so  little 
cost." 

"Girl,  girl!  "  said  Madame  Anderson  earnestly,  "one 
thing  I  would  say  to  you,  and  that  is,  you  must  not 
allow  yourself  to  fall  in  love  with  either  of  your  ben- 
efactors,especial!}7  George.  Remember  what  I  tell  you, 
the  result  would  be  only  misfortune  and  ruin." 

"Fie,  mamma!"  said  Helena  innocently,  "I  do  not 
understand  you.  It  should  not  surprise  any  one  if  I 
like  Baron  George  who  is  so  good  -to  us.  I  should  be 
an  ingrate  else." 

"You  owe  it  to  him  to  be  grateful.  Be  careful, 
however,  not  to  allow  any  other  feeling  to  take  pos- 
session of  you.  May  God  shield  you,  my  child!  1 
do  not  doubt  that  Baron  George  is  an  honorable,  also 
a  very  good  young  man,  and  that,  influenced  by  pure 
generosity,  he  has  undertaken  your  education,  but 
'opportunity  makes  thieves'  the  saying  goes,  and  if 
he  should  observe  in  you  a  warmer  feeling  than  grat- 
itude, it  would  be  only  a  step  to— O,  my  girl,  it  is 
terrible!  I  will  not  allow  myself  to  think  of  it." 

Helena  fixed  her  large  dark  eyes  in  childish  inquiry 
upon  her  mother.  It  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  she 
did  not  fully  comprehend  the  import  of  her  mother's 
utterances. 

"Let  us  quit  this  subject,  my  child,"  said  Madame 
Anderson.  "I  hear  steps  on  the  stairs.  It  is  probably 
Mr.  Sterner  coming  to  hear  you  recite.  I'll  retire  to 
the  other  room."  She  rose  and  withdrew  as  Maurits 
entered  the  outer  apartment, 


THE   TWO   TEACHERS  385 

Surprised  by  his  sudden  entrance,  Helena  forgot  to 
conceal  the,  romance  which  George  had  lent  her,  with 
strict  injunctions  that  Maurits  was  not  to  see  it. 

Maurits  advanced,  and  saluted  his  young  pupil  pleas- 
antly, but  his  eyes  falling  upon  the  open  book  whose 
title  page  he  caught  sight  of  long  enough  to  read,  a 
cloud  swept  over  his  face. 

Helena  blushed  as  if  she  had  been  caught  in  a  trans- 
gression, as,  no  doubt,  her  conscience  told  her  she 
had,  Maurits  having  repeatedly  cautioned  her  against 
reading  other  than  such  books  as  provided  or  recom- 
mended by  him. 

"From  whom  did  you  get  this,  Helena?"  asked  Mau- 
rits, seriously  but  mildly. 

"Baron  George." 

'What!"  cried  Maurits,  with  frowning  brows,  "does 
George  procure  books  of  that  character  for  you!  I 
could  not  have  believed  it!" 

"And  what  is  there  bad  about  it?"  inquired  the  girl, 
with  a  little  show  of  defiance  in  her  tone  and  manner. 
"There  is  nothing  dangerous  in  it." 

"Yes,  my  friend,"  replied  Maurits,  dropping  the 
romance  into  his  pocket,  "that  book,  believe  me, 
Helena,  is  highly  dangerous  to  a  young  mind  not  yet 
taught  to  distinguish  between  good  and  evil.  It  is 
interesting  and  fascinating,  I  will  allow,  but  the  moral- 
ity preached  by  the  author  is  by  no  means  the  best.  I 
desire  that  my  young  pupil  have  confidence  in  me,  and 
that  she  read  only  such  books  as  I  may  know  about.  If 
you  wish  something  entertaining,!  will  bring  you  some 
of  Walter  Scott's  works.  Such  books  you  may  read 
without  danger  that  your  imagination  will  be  affected 
by  impure  pictures.  This  book  of  which  I  have  taken 
possession  contains  many  impurities,  and  I  shall  give 


386  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

George  a  serious  warning  not  to  repeat  the  act.  I  will 
believe,  however,  that  this  happened  through  thought- 
lessness. " 

"But  I  don't  understand  you." 

"There  is  much  that  you  do  not  understand,  little 
Helena,"  interrupted  Maurits  gently;  "you  will  do 
well,  however,  to  read  what  your  more  experienced 
friend  and  teacher — your  brother — says,  for  I  am  your 
brother,  your  guide,  Helena.  Believe  me,  I  mean 
well. " 

"Yes,  I  know  you  do,"  said  Helena  feelingly,  "and 
if  you  say  I  must  not  read  such  books,  I  will  obey 
you,  Mr.  Sterner,  although  I  can't  see  what  harm  there 
is  in  it.  At  any  rate,  I  have  read  only  a  few  pages." 

"So  much  the  better.  Let  us  sa)'  no  more  about  it. 
Now  to  the  lessons.  Have  you  learned  them?" 

"Yes,  1  think  I  know  them,  but  there  is  a  matter 
in  the  French  grammar  that  I  do  not  understand  clearly. 
Will  you  be  good  enough  to  explain  it  to  me?" 

"Let  me  see  what  it  is." 

The  lessons  began,  and  continued  for  two  hours. 
Maurits  had  every  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  his  pupil, 
for  Helena  was  gifted  with  an  excellent  memory,  and 
her  progress  was  rapid  and  surprising. 

"Have  you  had  your  music  lesson  to-day?"  asked 
Maurits,  putting  aside  the  books. 

"Yes,  Professor  K —  was  here  this  forenoon,  and  I 
played  and  sang  for  him  two  hours.  He  comes  every 
day." 

"He  is  very  well  satisfied  with  you,  Helena.  I  had 
a  talk  with  him  yesterday.  He  declared  that  your 
talent  for  music  is  something  wonderful.  In  a  few 
weeks,  you  have  learned,  he  informed  me,  more  than 
any  other  one  of  his  pupils  during  a  whole  year.  Your 


THE  TWO  TEACHERS  387 

voice  is  also  excellent  and  of  unusual  compass,  he 
says.  Continue  as  earnestly  and  diligently  with  your 
studies,  and  we  shall  be  more  than  proud  of  you  one  of 
these  days.  I  hcpe  you  will  be  so  far  advanced  in  a 
few  months  now  that  you  may  take  a  position  in  the 
royal  theater  of  Stockholm.  You  will  make  your  fort- 
une, may  be.  But  you  must  never  forget,  whatever 
may  happen  you,  that  of  all  the  treasures  with  which 
you  may  be  endowed,  innocence  and  virtue  are  most 
to  be  prized.  They  are  better  and  more  precious  than 
all  the  accomplishments  you  can  possibly  acquire.  If 
accomplishments  are  not  elevated  and  ennobled  by 
virtue,  little  or  no  satisfaction  is  gained,  for,  though 
the  heights  of  fame  may  be  reached,  there  can  be  no 
genuine  happiness  if  the  heart  is  not  pure.  Ah,  Hel- 
ena, young  and  inexperienced  child,  a  thousand  temp- 
tations beset  your  path;  snares  will  be  laid  for  you  on 
every  hand,  but  keep  ever  uppermost  in  your  mind 
that  innocence  and  modesty,  those  two  precious  pearls 
in  the  crown  of  your  youth,  are  worth  much  more 
than  all  the  pleasures  the  world  can  afford  you.  I 
shall  always  follow  your  career  with  the  keenest  in- 
terest, Helena,  attid  may  the  time  never  come  when 
you  need  lower  your  pure  face  before  your  brother's 
glance.  God  bless  you,  my  child!" 

Maurits  leaned  forward,  and  pressed  a  gentle  kiss 
upon  the  young  girl's  white  forehead.  It  was  a  pure 
kiss;  a  kiss  at  which  angels  might  have  wept  with 
joy,  for  it  was  the  expression  of  an  overflowing  heart 
free  from  all  sensuality,  all  selfishness;  the  expression 
of  pure  love  for  a  sister  in  Christ. 

"Farewell,  now,  Helena,  I'll  come  again  to-morrow 
afternoon. " 

"He  is  so  good,"    said    Helena    when    Maurits    had 


388  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

gone,  "but  he  is  excessively  serious,  and  preaches, 
and  preaches  such  doleful  sermons.  And  he  has  taken 
my  book.  That  was  very  unkind  of  him,  to  say  the 
least.  What  possible  harm  can  there  be  in  reading 
a  romance?  The  whole  world  reads  them,  George 
says,  and  when  he,  who  is  really  my  benefactor,  per- 
mits me,  I  feel  that  Mr.  Sterner  has  no  right  to  in- 
terfere. It  will  be  amusing  to  hear  what  George  will 
have  to  say  about  it.  The  jolly  fellow.  Ah,  if  he 
would  only  come  this  evening." 

Helena  had  hardly  uttered  these  words  than  her 
wish  was  gratified.  The  door  opened,  and  George 
entered. 

"Are  you  alone,  my  little  Helena?"  he  inquired, 
saluting  her  with  a  slight  gesture  of  the  hand. 

"No,  mamma  is  in  the  next  room,"  answered  she, 
blushing  red  as  a  rose.  "Mr.  Sterner  has  just  gone." 

"Yes.  I  met  him  on  the  street,"  said  George,  seat- 
ing himself  upon  the  sofa.  "He  read  me  a  lecture  for 
lending  you  the  romance.  Why  did  you  show  it  to 
him?" 

"I  was  reading  it  just  before  he  entered,  and  did 
not  have  time  to  conceal  it.  I  am  so  sorry  he  took 
it  from  me,  it  was  so  nice." 

"You  shall  have  it  again,"  resumed  George,  taking 
the  book  from  his  pocket.  "He  returned  it  to  me  on 
the  street,  and  I  see  no  harm  in  reading  it,  whatever 
Maurits'  opinions  may  be  on  the  subject.  But  come 
here  and  sit,  Helena." 

The  maiden  dropped  her  e)'es,  and  blushing  and 
embarrassed,  took  the  proffered  seat  on  the  sofa  at 
George's  side. 

"What  ails  you,  Helena?  Has  Maurits  been  lectur- 
ing you  again?  He  is  a  regular  Solomon,  that  fellow." 


THE  TWO  TEACHERS  389 

"Yes,  he  is  very  wise,  and  very  good,"  said  Helena, 
"but—" 

"But  what?" 

"He  is  a  little  tiresome  at  times,"  resumed  the  girl, 
toying  with  George's  watch-chain.  "You  are  very  en- 
tertaining, Baron  George." 

"Do  you  think  so?  That  flatters  me.  I  wish  you 
would  not  call  me  baron,  however.  It  is  so  formal. 
You  must  call  me  George,  without  the  attachment, 
at  least  when  we  are  alone.  Will  you  not?" 

"No,  no!"  exclaimed  Helena,  as  if  forewarned  of 
danger  in  such  familiarity,  "that  would  never  do!" 

"Bah!  you  silly  girl!"  said  George,  patting  her  cheek, 
"why  do  you  not  dare  when  I  give  you  permission? 
It  is  my  wish,  Helena." 

"Then  I  must  obey,  I  suppose.  Otherwise  you  will 
be  provoked  with  me,  probably,  Herr  Bar — 

George  pressed  his  finger  upon  her  lips.  "There 
you  are  with  your  baron  again.  You  are  not  as  obe- 
dient as  you  might  be." 

"Forgive  me,  George.      It  is  my  duty  to  obey  you." 

"Ah,  that  I  like.  And  now  give  me  the  drift  of 
Maurits'  sermons.  It  must  be  very  affecting  to  hear 
him.  I  have  been  tempted  to  hide  myself  sometime 
under  the  sofa  here  that  I  may  have  the  benefit  of  his 
edifying  morals." 

"No,  you  must  not  do  that.  I  am  sure  I  could  not 
keep  from  laughing,  and  that  would  not  be  right,  for 
he  is  very  kind  to  me,  and  has  taught  me  many  useful 
things.  He  says  he  would  be  a  brother  to  me,  and  I 
must  treat  him  as  such." 

"A  brother!"  muttered  George.  "Well,  let  him, 
willingly,  if  it  goes  no  farther.  See  here,"  said  he 
aloud,  "you  shall  have  this  romance  and  many  others 


3QO  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

quite  as  interesting  but  on  one  condition.  You  are 
never  to  show  them  to  Maurits.  You  can  easily  con- 
ceal them  in  the  drawer  of  your  bureau,  where  they 
will  be  beyond  his  sight." 

"Thank  you,  George.  Nevertheless,  I  do  not  know 
whether  I  dare,"  said  the  young  girl  irresolutely. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  promised  Mr.  Sterner  I  would  read  only 
such  books  as  he  may  know  of  and  recommend.  He 
forbade  me  emphatically." 

"What  right  has  he  to  dictate  to  you?"  protested 
George.  "You  need  never  obey  any  other  than  me,  and 
what  I  sanction,  you  may  do  without  fear.  Moreover, 
Maurits  need  know  nothing  about  it.  There  is  the 
book." 

Still  Helena  hesitated  for  an  instant  to  break  the 
promise  so  recently  given  to  Maurits,  but  the  tempta- 
tion to  read  what  had  promised  to  be  such  a  charming 
story  was  too  strong.  Though  her  conscience  told  her 
that  she  was  doing  wrong,  she  could  not  resist,  and 
taking  the  book  from  George's  hand,  she  arose  and 
hid  it  safely  in  the  drawer  of  the  bureau. 

The  young  libertine  smiled,  and  a  flash  of  triumph 
lighted  up  his  countenance. 

"That  heart  cannot  resist  me,"  thought  he.  "It  will 
not  be  long  until  she  will  be  mine.  She  will  soon  be 
sixteen — and  then — " 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  George?" 

"I  was  thinking  what  a  pleasure  it  will  be,  one  of 
these  days,  to  see  you  appear  in  the  theater  of  Stock- 
holm. Do  you  not  long  for  it,  Helena?" 

"Ah,  yes!"  cried  the  girl  joyfully,  "that  I  do,  of 
course.  God  grant  that  I  may  be  accepted." 

'  Have  no  fear,  I'll  answer  for  that.  I  have  power- 
ful and  influential  friends  at  the  capital." 


THE   TWO  TEACHERS  3QI 

"Ah,  but  you  are  good,  George!  How  shall  I  ever 
demonstrate  my  gratitude?" 

"You  must  give  me  first  place  in  your  regard, "  said 
George.  "You  must  promise  me  this,  Helena." 

"O,  yes,  I  esteem  you  highly." 

"That  is  kind,  but  I  must  leave  you  now.   Farewell!" 

George  embraced  the  young  maiden,  and  pressed  a 
kiss  upon  her  glowing  lips. 

This  kiss  was  not  as  pure  as  the  brotherly  one  re- 
ceived not  long  before  from  her  other  teacher.  Helena 
felt  this  instinctive!)',  for  her  face  became  crimson, 
and  her  breast  heaved  as  if  moved  by  some  violent 
feeling.  The  burning  passion  of  sensuality  was  trans- 
mitted to  her  veins  in  that  kiss.  It  was  the  kiss  of  a 
Judas,  for  by  it,  a  young,  inexperienced  and  inno- 
cent heart  was  betrayed. 

It  was  a  starlight  evening  a  few  months  later.  The 
hour  was  eleven. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  house  in  which  George 
Ehrenstam  dwelt,  stood  two  young  men,  wrapped  in 
long  cloaks  whose  upturned  collars  hid  their  faces. 

"You  have  grounds  for  believing  that  he  has  de- 
ceived you,  Maurits?"  said  one  of  them  in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes,  Edward,  I  fear  so.  I  sought  her  this  evening 
at  her  home,  but  she  was  not  there.  Her  mother  had 
gone  to  sip  coffee  with  one  of  her  acquaintances,  and 
that  Helena  is  not  with  her,  I  am  convinced.  I  fear 
I  have  been  duped,  cruelly  duped,  by  both  her  and 
George." 

"Poor  Maurits!"  said  Edward.  "If  it  be  true,  you 
have  my  heartfelt  sympathy.  You,  who  have  done 
so  much  for  her,  ought  to  have  been  better  rewarded." 

"It  was  a  dream,  Edward,  a  beautiful  dream.  But 
I  will  put  no  faith  in  dreams  hereafter." 


3Q2  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Possibly  you  are  wrong." 

"No,  no,  I  can't  hope  so  much.  Now,  when  I  look 
back  upon  a  number  of  circumstances  which  seemed 
to  me  of  little  consequence  at  the  time,  it  is  clear  to 
me  that  George  succeeded  in  exciting  an  absorbing 
passion  for  him  in  that  young  and  thoughtless  heart. 
He  knew  how,  and  has  not  hesitated  to  make  use  of 
it  to  the  girl's  ruin,  the  wretch!" 

'You  think,  then,  that  she  is  with  him  now?" 

"Yes,  I  fear  that  he  has  lured  her  away." 

"What  did  I  tell  you?  You  put  too  much  trust  in 
him;  you  would  not  listen  to  my  warnings." 

"True.  I  was  a  dunce,"  said  Maurits  woefully.  "It 
was  an  illusion  and,  O,  how  terribly  crushed!  But, 
now,  now,  I  shall  not  be  so  easily  deceived  again." 

"Don't  be  too  sure,  Maurits.  You  will  be  misled 
by  many,  and  it  is  not  improbable  that  you  will  be  as 
badly  duped  again  as  you  have  been  this  time. " 

The  two  friends  pressed  closely  to  the  wall  of  the 
house  the  better  to  conceal  themselves.  Two  persons 
emerged  from  the  door  and  passed  down  to  the  street. 
Both  were,  as  were  Maurits  and  Edward,  closely 
wrapped  in  long  cloaks.  One,  and  the  shorter  one  of 
the  two,  leaned  upon  the  arm  of  the  other.  They 
hastened  past  the  place  where  the  two  friends  were 
concealed  without  observing  them. 

"Edward,"  said  Maurits,  in  a  low  voice,  "did  you 
see  her?" 

"Whom?      I  saw  only  two    persons  in  men's  attire." 

"One  of  them  was  Helena,  Edward.  Her  cloak  col- 
lar was  blown  aside  as  she  passed  us,  and  I  recog- 
nized her  face.  It  is  bitter  to  find  that  I  have  been 
so  jockeyed  when  I  meant  so  well." 

"Let  us  turn  into  the  alley  here,  and  get  ahead  of 
them,"  said  Edward;  "you  may  be  wrong." 


THE  TWO  TEACHERS  393 

"No,  no,  let  us  go  home.  I  was  not  deceived.  I  am 
not  making  mistakes  now." 

"Did  you  love  the  girl?" 

"No,  but  I  was  much  interested  in  her.  I  enter- 
tained hopes  of  educating  her  up  to  something  grand, 
for  her  talent  is  above  the  ordinary.  I  would  have 
had  her  not  only  renowned,  I  was  quite  as  desirous 
that  she  should  be  virtuous  and  pure;  but  George  has 
upset  all  my  calculations.  O,  that  I  had  never  brought 
the  girl  to  his  attention!  How  much  better  it  would 
have  been  for  her  to  have  remained  in  her  former  con- 
dition, however  wretched." 

'You  forget,"  interrupted  Edward,  "that  even  then 
she  would,  most  likely,  have  fallen  a  prey  to  the  lusts 
of  mankind  just  as  thousands  of  her  sisters  before  her 
have  fallen.  Want  and  misery  would  soon  have  forced 
her  into  prostitution,  and  would  that  have  been  any 
better?" 

"You  are  right,  and  it  is  terrible.  A  feeling  of  op- 
pression comes  over  me  when  I  think  of  the  fate  of 
those  unfortunates,  driven  to  a  choice  between  the 
pangs  cf  hunger,  or  dishonor." 

"Yes,"  said  Edward,  "it  gives  the  fatalist  something 
upon  which  to  erect  theories  that  the  world  is  ruled 
by  blind  chance,  iron-handed  necessity.  If  there  is 
a  merciful  and  generous  Father,  who  has  compassion 
on  his  children,  who  desires  their  success  and  happi- 
ness, say  they,  why  does  he  allow  so  many  to  be  born 
into  a  life  of  misery  from  which  they  may  seek  in 
vain  to  liberate  themselves!" 

"The  thought  is  terrible,  Edward.  I  have  struggled 
against  this  my  whole  life.  As  a  child,  I  was  on  the 
point  of  becoming  a  fatalist.  Love  for  my  mother, 
and  the  memory  of  her  alone  rescued  me.  Since  then, 


394  THE    PLAY    OF    FATfe 

I  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  find  the  holy  truth  and 
that  eternal  righteousness  and  compassion  without 
which  man  is  driven  like  a  rudderless  wreck  before  the 
storm.  I  found  it  during  the  quiet  years  succeeding 
my  boyhood  and  my  mother's  death, during  which  time 
I  lived,  it  may  be  said,  in  a  world  of  my  own  shap- 
ing; a  world  of  dreams  and  illusions;  a  world  of 
thought,  but  a  world  of  action.  And  now,  when  I 
begin  to  act,  when  I  return  to  the  every-day  world  of 
mankind  to  seek  the  good  and  contribute  to  its  devel- 
opment, I  see  myself  so  cruelly  disappointed.  I  see 
the  evil  victorious,  and  that  all  our  struggles,  our 
honest  endeavors  are  wasted.  And  again  chance  has 
set  aglow  the  dying  embers  of  doubt  that  I  had  tried 
to  smother  as  the  greatest  misfortune  accompanying 
me. " 

"My  friend,"  said  Edward,  "men  are  ungrateful  and 
bad,  it  is  true,  but  that  should  not  deter  you  from 
believing  in  a  higher  love  that  rules  the  world.  We 
are  not  living  in  the  world  of  the  idealist,  and  we 
should  not  look  for  an  immediate  working  out  of  the 
godly  in  the  human.  Evil  exists,  and  there  will  always 
be  instances  when  it  will  seem  to  conquer,  but  that 
gives  us  no  right,  however,  to  question  the  existence 
of  a  Providence  whose  living  eye  is  upon  us  all  and 
at  all  times.  That  were  a  superficial  way  of  looking 
at  things.  True,  history  is  often  only  an  exposition 
of  the  human  passions,  but  may  we  not  even  there 
discern  a  ruling  hand,  an  all-seeing  eye,  a  power  be- 
yond and  above  mankind  that  humbles  the  haughty 
and  exalts  the  submissive?  And  does  not  the  mind 
predicate  a  future  life,  a  life  from  which  all  injustice 
is  blotted;  where  the  spirits  of  the  guilty  stand  dis- 
robed of  the  dazzling  attire  that  dissembling  or  the 


THE   TWO   TEACHERS  395 

prejudices  of  the  world  threw  over  them;  where  noth- 
ing longer  hides  their  nakedness  from  an  eye  that 
cannot  be  deceived?  Ought  not  this  thought,  this 
trust  to  be  an  abundant  consolation  to  us  when  we  are 
inclined  to  weep  over  our  illusions,  dispelled  by  our 
fellow  men?  I  have  always  thought  so,  but  it  has 
been  easier  for  me  than  for  you.  Your  life  has  been 
stormier,  the  injustices  and  cares  you  have  suffered 
deeper  and  more"  painful.  " 

"You  are  right,"  responded  Maurits,  "we  ought  to 
think  so,  I  admit.  Resignation,  that  calm  that  comes 
after  the  storm  that  crushed  our  frail  craft  called  hope, 
is  the  haven  in  which  we  should  seek  shelter,  I  know, 
but  can  we  always  think  so?  Is  not  the  spirit  of  man 
naturally  weak  and  unstable?  Can  our  courage  and 
faith  be  sufficiently  strong  to  sustain  us  always  in  our 
many  and  severe  trials?  And  if  crime  leads  to  misfort- 
une, are  there  not  many  cases  in  which  misfortune 
induces  crime?  " 

"Maurits,  no  victories  are  won  without  a  struggle. 
Faith,  the  true,  the  real,  presupposes  investigation 
and  doubt.  There  will  always  be,  in  the  experience 
of  every  one,  a  period  of  inner  strife,  of  distrust  in 
Providence,  of  bitterness  and  hate  toward  mankind. 
But  as  the  phoenix,  rejuvenated,  rises  from  her  moth- 
er's funeral  pyre,  so  shall  truth,  the  daughter  of 
doubt,  upon  her  outstretched  wings,  soar  up  out  of  her 
mother's  ashes.  Let  men  say  what  they  will,  this 
is  a  victory  that  may  be  achieved  by  the  spirit  of  man. 
To  succumb  in  the  struggle  is  weakness,  it  is  not  in- 
evitable. You  have  not  yet  fought  your  battle  to  a 
finish,  Maurits.  You  have  hardly  begun.  For  you  as 
for  me,  there  remain,  perhaps,  yet  some  years  of  con- 
tinual inner  struggle,  in  which,  let  us  hope,  we  may 
not  succumb." 


THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Maurits  did  not  answer  beyond  a  silent  pressure  of 
the  hand. 

They  had  now  halted  at  the  entrance  to  his  place  of 
residence. 

"Good  night,  Edward,"  said  Maurits,  "do  not  follow 
me,  for  I  wish  to  be  alone.  I  wish  to  think  over  what 
you  have  said." 

The  two  friends  separated. 

"It  is  too  late  to  rescue  her,"  muttered  Maurits  to 
himself,  as  he  paced  his  chamber  restlessly  back  and 
forth,  "but  the  dream,  is  it  past?  O,  George,  George! 
You  rouse  again  the  slumbering  hate  of  my  boyhood. 
How  basely  you  have  deceived  both  her  and  me.  The 
poor  girl!  Brought  by  you  to  dishonor  and  despair!" 

Three  weeks  after  these  occurrences,  Helena  and 
her  mother  left  Upsala  without  having  again  seen 
Maurits.  George,  having  passed  his  examination,  and 
being  already  tired  of  "the  city  of  eternal  youth," 
betook  himself  to  Stockholm  to  enter  the  guards,  the 
only  place  in  the  city  he  declared,  suitable  to  him. 
By  his  influence,  Helena,  his  mistress,  secured  a  place 
as  pupil  in  the  royal  theater,  where  her  natural  talent 
soon  attracted  attention  and  begot  the  hope  that  in 
her  would  be  developed,  ere  long,  an  actress  of  the 
first  rank. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

THE     DEBUTANTE 

One  beautiful  autumn  day,  at  the  hour  of  noon,  a 
few  months  later,  two  elegantly  clad  young  men  met 
upon  the  promenade  of  Norrbro  in  Stockholm. 

"Good  day,  Caesar,"  said  one.  "Thanks  for  good 
company  yesterday.  Have  you  procured  your  ticket 
yet  for  the  play  to-morrow?" 

"No,  is  there  anything  new?" 

"What!  Do  you  not  know  it?  What  the  deuce  do 
you  do  with  your  time!  ' 

"I  have  made  it  a  rule  never  to  read  the  papers," 
said  he  who  was  addressed  as  Caesar.  "They  never 
fail  to  put  me  in  a  bad  humor,  wherefore  I  have  not 
heard  the  theatrical  announcements  for  to-morrow.  I 
rarely  know  what  piece  is  to  be  played  before  the  day 
it  is  presented,  when  I  send  my  servant  after  the  play- 
bills. Let  me  hear,  then,  what  there  is  new.' 

"A  debutante,  and  a  new  piece." 

"Great  guns!  And  what  is  the  name  of  the  debu- 
tante?" 

"It  is  George  Ehrenstam's  little  Helena.  Have  you 
seen  her?" 

"No,  but  I  have  heard  George  describe  her  often  as 
a  remarkable  beauty.  Who  is  she  any  way?" 

"She  is  said  to  be  a  peasant  girl,  whom  George 
picked  up  a  few  years  ago,  and  has  had  educated. 
Concerning  her  looks,  I  can  assure  you  her  beauty 

397 


398  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

surpasses  power  of  description.  George,  who  is  my 
friend,  exhibits  her  with  pardonable  pride.  Within  a 
few  weeks,  you  shall  see  that  she  has  become  one  of 
Stockholm's  greatest  rages.  Her  talent  for  the  stage 
is  pronounced  extraordinary,  and  it  is  said  she  is  as 
great  a  singer  as  actress. " 

"Is  she  to  make  her  debut  in  an  opera  then?" 

"No,  it  is  a  drama  in  four  acts  by  a  young  and  new 
author,  whose  name  is  still  unknown." 

"What  is  the  title  of  the  piece?" 

"The  Amber  Heart." 

"What  a  queer  conceit.  How  did  the  fellow  ever 
hit  upon  that?" 

"An  odd  title,  sure  enough,  but  the  play  is  said  to 
indicate  great  genius,  and  to  abound  in  piquant  and 
affecting  situations.  My  uncle,  his  excellency,  informs 
me  that  he,  with  the  director  of  the  theater,  Count  X-- 
inspected  the  manuscript,  and  that  they  were  much 
impressed  with  the  originality  of  style  and  grouping. 
He  predicts  a  brilliant  success  for  the  play.  All  this 
considered  tells  one  that  he  should  not  miss  it.  I 
have  been  fortunate  enough  to  secure  a  seat  in  Baron 
Ehrenstam's  box  in  the  first  row.  He  is,  as  you  know, 
closely  related  to  my  parents, " 

"You  speak  of  the  elder  baron,   of  course?" 

"George's  father,  yes." 

"He  is  in  the  city,  then?" 

"And  his  daughter  also,  a  young  beauty  of  seven- 
teen. He  will  be  a  lucky  dog  who  wins  her  hand, 
for  with  her  goes  a  half  million  as  a  portion,  and, 
in  addition,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  women  to  be 
seen  in  Stockholm.  Something  worth  considering." 

"And  this  lady,  so  lavishly  endowed,  is  she  yet  a 
prendre?" 


THE   DEBUTANTE  39Q 

"I  believe  so.  At  least  it  is  whispered  that  the 
baron  has  been  making  overtures  to  Count  Stjerne- 
krantz,  who  owns  the  large  estate,  Odensvik,  in  Werm- 
land,  but  he,  a  very  peculiar  being  and  a  misanthrope, 
has  not  yet  declared  himself.  He  is  at  present  in  the 
city,  and  is  frequently  seen  in  the  company  of  the 
Ehrenstams.  The  girl,  I  am  told,  seems  to  entertain 
no  very  exalted  opinion  of  him,  however." 

"And  you  propose,  naturally  enough,  to  be  the 
count's  more  fortunate  rival?"  said  Caesar,  laughing. 

"I  have  relinquished  that  hope, "  answered  the  young 
elegant,  "for  the  beautiful  Isabella,  a  very  romantic 
and  well-read  lady,  has  declared  in  unmistakable  lan- 
guage, that  she  will  not  marry  unless  she  finds  a  per- 
son who  is  the  possessor  of  all  the  qualities  of  her 
ideal,  and  I,  alas!  have  none  of  them." 

"She  has  enumerated  these  qualities,  it  would 
seem. " 

"Yes,  he  must  be  a  genius,  handsome,  talented,  and, 
above  all,  he  must  have  a  scientific  education;  for  this 
young  girl,  instructed  by  a  book-worm,  a  tutor  of 
a  philosophical  turn,  for  whom  she  entertains  the 
greatest  esteem  and  admiration,  has  more  knowledge 
of  and  love  for  the  sciences  than  our  Stockholm 
ladies,  who  are  generally  very  superficial.  You  see  then 
my  suit  is  hopeless;  for  my  uniform  is  not  sufficient 
to  dazzle  the  beautiful  heiress.  Moreover,  she  has 
already  dared  to  inform  me  even  that  our  uniforms  are 
nothing  else  than  a  brilliant  affliction." 

"Morbleu!"  cried  Caesar  laughing,  "she  must  be  an 
amusing  one,  your  heiress.  It  would  be  a  pleasure  to 
make  her  acquaintance." 

"Come  into  the  box  to  morrow  evening,  and  I  will 
present  you.  But  I  must  be  off  home  now  and  dress 


400  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

myself,  for  I    am     to     dine     with     the     Ehrenstams." 

"There  comes  Baron  George  on  a  horse,"  said  Cae- 
sar, pointing  toward  Gustav  Adolf's  Square.  "He 
comes  this  way.  Adieu,  for  the  present.  I'll  go  and 
get  my  tickets  for  the  play." 

The  two  pedestrians  separated,  Caesar  hurrying  to 
the  theater  to  secure  a  seat  for  the  play  the  next  even, 
ing,  while  the  other  elegant  remained,  awaiting  the 
approach  of  George. 

"Good  day,  brother,"  said  the  latter,  drawing  in  his 
horse.  "Do  you  dine  with  my  parents  to-day?" 

"Yes,  I  am  to  have  that  honor.  You  are  out  for  a 
ride,  I  see." 

"I  am  out  to  break  in  this  colt.  What  do  you  think 
of  my  Othello?" 

"He  is,  indeed,  a  superb  beast." 

"And  a  thoroughbred,  also.  Count  Y —  offered  me 
twelve  hundred  riks-dollars  for  him  yesterday,  but  I 
declined  it.  He  has  fire  in  his  veins,  and  is  as  fleet 
as  an  English  hunter." 

"You  are  going  to  Regerings  Street,  I  presume,"  said 
the  other,  smiling. 

"Why  so?  " 

"Oh,  your  beautiful  Helena  resides  there.  I  want 
to  say  to  you,  George,  that  you  must  not  be  so  jeal- 
ous of  her  hereafter  as  you  have  been.  If  she  makes 
a  hit  of  her  debut,  you  must  allow  her  to  open  her 
salon  to  your  friends." 

"That  I  will,  mon  cher  Alfred.  After  the  play  to- 
morrow, we  are  to  sup  with  Helena  if  she  makes  a 
success  of  her  debut,  and  I  have  little  apprehension 
for  her.  I  shall  meet  the  most  of  my  friends  at  the 
play  to-morrow,  I  presume,  when  I  will  invite  them." 

"Depend  upon    it,  we  will  be    there  to  do    honor  to 


THE  DEBUTANTE  401 

the  heroine  of  the  day.  Do  you  know  who  wrote  the 
play?" 

"No.  It  is  said  to  be  a  young  Upsala  student  who 
in  this  makes  his  bow  to  the  public  as  a  dramatist. 
He  does  not  reveal  his  name.  The  play  exhibits  tal- 
ent, I  understand.  I  have  seen  Helena's  role,  and,  if 
I  may  judge,  it  possesses  great  poetic  merit." 

"What  is  Helena's  name  in  the  play?" 

"The  same  as  my  sister's,"  said  George. 

"Isabella,   then?" 

"Yes." 

George  bowed,  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  galloped 
away.  • 

We  will  follow  him  to  Regerings  Street,  into  which, 
as  Alfred  had  rightly  conjectured,  he  hurried,  after 
galloping  for  a  time  back  and  forth  through  other 
streets. 

A  splendid  apartment  in  a  large  house  in  Regerings 
Street  was,  at  present,  the  abiding  place  of  the  little 
girl  from  Svartsback  Street  in  Upsala.  Here  abound- 
ed a  luxury  that  surpasses  description  ;  for  George  had 
spared  neither  pains  nor  money  to  make  the  young 
girl's  life  as  agreeable  as  possible.  The  walls  were 
adorned  with  paintings  of  well-known  masters;  Cu- 
pids supported  consoles  upon  which  were  displayed 
costly  vases;  thick  carpets  covered  the  floor,  and 
swelling  silk-upholstered  divans  bade  one  rest.  The 
farther  room  was  the  young  girl's  boudoir..  Here  we 
find  Helena,  attired  in  a  tasteful  morning  gown 
which  half  concealed  half  revealed  the  most  ravishing 
form,  reclining  on  a  couch  in  a  position  fit  to  enchant 
the  gods.  Her  long,  chestnut-brown  hair,  still  unfet- 
tered, floated  around  her  neck  and  throat.  The  deli- 
cate head  was  resting  on  her  marble  white  hands,  and 


402  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

upon  the  fresh,  rosy  lips,  played  a  smile  of  satisfac- 
tion, while  the  half  closed  eyes  indicated  a  sweet 
trance,  a  dolce  far  nicnte. 

Helena,  now  eighteen  years  old,  was  in  the  full 
bloom  of  her  beaut)-.  She  loved  and  was,  or  believed 
herself,  loved  in  return.  She  saw  herself  surrounded 
by  dazzling  magnificence,  and  before  her  a  path  of 
triumph,  of  glorious  success  and  fame.  Every  wish, 
though  only  half  expressed,  was  instantly  gratified. 
Everything  designed  to  please  the  senses  was  laid  at 
her  feet. 

"This  was  bought  with  my  virtue,"  a  guilty  con- 
science said,  but  daily  with  less  frequency.  Repent- 
ance, that  pale  and  frightful  guest,  was  forbidden  the 
transgressor's  boudoir,  and  if  trouble  sometimes 
gnawed  at  the  roses  on  her  cheeks,  like  the  pollen  in 
a  luxurious  calyx,  it  was  at  once  scattered  to  the  winds 
by  Cupid's  pleasantries. 

At  this  instant,  in  a  half  slumber,  she  was  thinking 
of  the  coming  day.  She  dreamed  herself  already  over- 
whelmed with  applause, and  bombarded  with  bouquets. 
She  saw  all  Stockholm  prostrated  at  her  feet,  and, 
though  she  loved  but  George,  she  seemed  to  find  no  ob- 
jection to  being  admired  and  courted  by  others.  She 
was  in  good  luck  and  was  enjoying  it.  Over  the  large 
eyes,  that  shone  like  the  dark  azure  of  the  evening  sky, 
the  silk-fringed  eyelids  closed  slowly  until  all  was 
hidden.  A  sigh  full  of  desire  heaved  the  sumptuous, 
half  concealed  bosom,  and  the  smile  on  her  lips  re- 
mained in  her  dreams.  Helena  slept  lightly,  but  her 
slumber  was  sweet  and  calm.  Laughing  images  floated 
before  her  inner  eyes.  The  air  was  filled  with  the 
rich  fragrance  of  fresh  roses  with  which  the  numerous 
vases  were  abundantly  supplied,  and  the  odors  of 


THE    DEBUTANTE  403 

costly  perfumes  floated  around  her  couch,  guarded  not 
by  an  angel  of  innocence. 

The  door  opened,  and  George  tiptoed  quietly  to  the 
side  of  the  couch  on  which  the  young  songtress  lay. 

It  was,  as  we  know,  the  hour  of  midday.  The  sun 
shone  in  through  the  window,  and  the  red  silk  dra- 
peries were  therefore  half  drawn.  Through  them,  a 
magic  sea  of  reddish  light  was  shed  over  the  young 
woman's  charming  figure. 

"Truly,  she  is  beautiful,"  muttered  George,  contem- 
plating her.  "None  more  so  has  ever  dwelt  in  Stock- 
holm, or  been  loved  by  man,  and  she  may  thank  me 
for  all." 

Bending  over,  he  kissed  the  slumbering  beauty's 
lips.  She  started  and  awoke. 

"Is  it  you?"  said  she,  winding  her  soft  arms  around 
his  neck  and  drawing  him  to  her  breast.  "Why  did 
you  disturb  me,  you  bad  boy?" 

"And  what  were  you  dreaming,  my  angel?" 

"I  dreamed  that  the  people  in  the  theater  applauded 
me,  and  showered  me  with  flowers." 

"The  dream  shall  be  realized." 

"Do  5'ou  think  so?" 

"I  am  convinced  of  it." 

"But  if  I  should  be  afraid,  become  stage  frightened?" 

"You  must  know  your  role  perfectly." 

"Yes,  that  I  do.  I  have  not  rehearsed  it  over  and 
over  again  for  the  mere  pleasure.  In  the  rehearsal, 
everything  has  gone  off  so  nicely  that  the  director 
has  expressed  the  greatest  satisfaction.  But  it  is  a 
very  difficult  role." 

"Oh,  it  will  be  all  right.  Do  not  borrow  trouble. 
Many  of  my  friends  will  be  there,  and  we  will  en- 
courage you,  depend  upon  it.  But  after  the  play,  you 


404  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

must  have  an  excellent  supper  prepared,  for  I  intend 
to  invite  a  number  of  my  acquaintances  who  will  be 
anxious  to  do  homage  to  the  queen  of  the  day." 

"Ah,  how  agreeable  that  will  be!"  cried  Helena, 
clapping  her  hands  in  joy.  "You  are  a  charming 
lover,  George  mine!" 

"Do  you  intend  to  go  out  to-day?"  asked  George. 

"I  ought  to  call  on  my  mother,  who  is  not  feeling 
very  well,  but  that  can  be  delayed  until  to-morrow, 
after  the  rehearsal.  You  are,  therefore,  welcome  here 
this  evening,  and  I  will  perform  a  scene  or  two  for 
you  from  the  play  of  the  'Amber  Heart.'  ' 

"No,"  said  George,  laughing,  "I  prefer  to  see  it  all 
at  one  sitting  to-morrow.  It  is  said  to  be  very  inter- 
esting. " 

"O,  it  is  delightful!"  exclaimed  Helena.  "I  should 
like  so  much  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  author. 
Many  scenes  are  awful — horrible — but  as  a  whole  it  is 
sublime.  The  language  is  exceptionally  beautiful  and 
poetic,  yet  a  gloomy  spirit  pervades  it  all  through." 

"All  that  will  be  interesting  to  see,  my  little  Helena, 
but  I  must  leave  you  now  as  we  have  a  great  dinner 
at  our  house  to-day.  I  may  possibly  drop  in  this  even- 
ing when  our  guests  have  departed.  Until  then,  fare- 
well!" 

George  kissed  her,  and  went  his  way. 

In  the  afternoon,  he  returned  to  Helena,  this  time 
not  on  horseback,  but  with  a  carriage.  His  landau, 
drawn  by  two  beautiful  grays,  drew  up  before  the 
door,  and  George  sprang  out  and  entered. 

"Dress  yourself  and  come  with  me,  Helena,  we  will 

drive  for  a  while.      You  can  make  your  mother  a  short 

call  on  the  way,  after  which  we  will    go    to  some    one 

of  the  suburban  inns  and  sup.      Have  you    any  objec- 

ions?" 


THE     DEBUTANTE  405 

"None  whatever.  Wait  a  minute,  I'll  be  ready 
soon. " 

It  was  middle  September,  and  the  air  was  mild  and 
balmy.  The  young  girl  wrapped  herself  in  a  thin  silk 
riding  cloak  only,  put  a  hat  on  her  head,  and  drew 
the  veil  over  her  face,  thereupon  took  George's  arm 
and  hastened  with  him  down  the  stairs. 

"Drive  first  to  Westerlang  Street,  No. — , "  was 
George's  command  to  the  coachman,  assisting  his 
companion  to  a  seat,  and  taking  his  place  at  her  side. 

The  coachman  gave  the  horses  a  cut  that  sent  them 
prancing  on  their  way. 

Turning  a  street  corner,  the  lordly  equipage  came 
near  running  down  a  raggedly  clad  being  walking  in 
the  street.  He  escaped  injury,  but  was  spattered 
from  head  to  foot  with  mud  thrown  far  and  wide  by 
the  rapidly  revolving  wheels. 

"Look  before  you,  rascal!"  shouted  the  coachman, 
and  snapped  his  whip. 

"It  is  an  outrage  that  these  miserable  beggars  should 
be  everlastingly  in  the  way, "  remarked  George.  "That 
was  an  ugly  looking  customer!" 

"Yes,  horrible,"  answered  Helena.  "He  looked 
like  a  bandit,  such  hideous  red  hair  and  beard.  It 
would  not  be  pleasant  to  meet  him  in  a  forest." 

The  person  who  was  the  subject  of  these  remarks 
was  Jacob  Kron,  and  they  who  rode  in  the  carriage, 
his  brother  and,  as  the  reader  has  already  conjectured, 
his  daughter. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A    FAMILY 

As  it  dashed  past,  Jacob  was  given  an  opportunity 
to  cast  a  glance  into  the  carriage.  At  sight  of  the 
young  man  so  comfortably  stretched  out  upon  the  soft 
cushions,  showing  no  concern  at  having  nearly  run  a 
fellow  being  down,  Jacob  halted,  and  a  bitter  smile 
played  upon  his  lips.  Hereupon,  as  if  he  had  sud- 
denly recollected  something,  he  smote  his  forehead 
with  his  hand,  and  broke  forth:  "That  face,  I  seem  to 
recognize  it!  Ha!  where  have  I  seen  it  before?  It  is 
he!"  continued  Jacob  vehemently.  "He  resembles  his 
brother  in  every  way.  I  must  know  more  about  this 
youth." 

Turning  hastily,  he  sprang  after  the  carriage  which 
had  not  yet  passed  from  view. 

The  street  was  narrow,  and  many  people  were  going 
to  and  fro,  wherefore  George's  coachman  was  obliged 
to  drive  at  a  walk.  Thus  Jacob  was  enabled  in  time 
to  overtake  the  conveyance,  which  he  followed,  now 
running  now  walking,  until  it  halted  before  one  of 
the  smaller  house  in  Westerlangatan.  Here  both 
George  and  Helena  alighted  and  entered  the  house. 
Jacob  approached  the  driver  and  addressed  him: 

"Listen  to  me,  sir.  Since  you  came  so  near  to  driv- 
ing over  me  a  few  minutes  ago,  you  can  do  me  the 
service  to  tell  me  what  your  master's  name  is." 

"How  does  tliat  concern  you?"  said  the  coachman 

406 


A   FAMILV  407 

frowning.  "Do  you  think  of  demanding  compensation 
because  I  came  near  running  you  down,  notwithstand- 
ing you  were  not  injured?" 

"No,"  answered  Jacob,  "I  assure  you  I  have  no  such 
intention.  It  is  for  another  reason  w,holly  that  I  ask." 

"Very  well  then,"  said  the  coachman,  who  was  not 
an  altogether  heartless  fellow,  "if  that  is  all  you  wish, 
I  see  no  harm  in  serving  you  to  that  extent.  My  mas- 
ter is  the  young  Baron  Ehrenstam." 

'  So,  ho!     Does  he  reside  in  this  house?" 

"No,  he  went  in  to  visit  the  mother  of  the  young 
_ady,  his  companion." 

"And  the  lady,  who  is  she?" 

"Now,  you  are  altogether  too  curious,"  was  the  curt 
reply.  "What  business  have  you  with  the  gentleman 
and  his  lady?" 

"I  will  tell  you,"  said  Jacob.  "Many  years  ago,  a 
Baron  Ehrenstam,  the  father  of  your  master,  I  pre- 
sume, showed  me  great  kindness.  It  is  not  a  matter 
for  wonder,  therefore,  that  noting  a  great  likeness, 
and  believing  I  recognized  a  son  of  my  benefactor,  I 
should  be  somewhat  inquisitive." 

"In  order  to  again  solicit  charity,  probably,"  said 
the  coachman  laughing.  "But  where  does  the  young 
lady  come  in?" 

"Nowhere.  I  thought  him  married,  perhaps,  and 
that  it  was  his  wife  driving  with  h'im." 

"Yes.  Married  with  the  left  hand,  old  man,  as  all  of 
our  young  gentlemen  are.  Mademoiselle  Helena  is 
not  his  wife,  and  it  is  not  at  all  likely  she  ever  will 
be. " 

"Is  her  name  Helena!"  exclaimed  Jacob. 

'Yes.  And  she  is  an  actress  of  no  mean  ability, 
let  me  add." 


408  THE    PLAY    OF    KATE 

"An  actress!" 

"Yes,  and  I  am  promised  by  the    baron  that    I  may 
go  to-morrow  night  to  hear    her  play.      She    is    to  ap 
pear  in  a  great  drama  entitled  'The  Amber  Heart, '  the 
baron  says."          . 

"The  Amber  Heart!"  ejaculated  Jacob,  drawing  his 
hand  across  his  forehead. 

At  this  instant  George  and  Helena  returned;  Jacob 
stepped  hastily  aside,  but  not  before  he  had  caught  a 
good  view  of  the  young  woman's  face,  now  no  longer 
concealed  by  her  veil. 

"Well,  Helena,"  George  was  heard  to  say,  "Ma- 
dame Johanna  is  in  no  danger,  it  seems  to  me." 

"No,  my  mother  looked  much  better,  I  am  pleased 
to  say." 

The  couple  re-seated  themselves  in  the  landau. 

"To  Djurgarden, "  George  commanded,  and  the  car- 
riage rolled  away. 

Jacob  was  left  alone  before  the  house  in  which  Hel- 
ena's mother  dwelt.  For  a  long  time  he  stood  mo- 
tionless, his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground,  apparently 
deeply  engaged  with  his  thoughts. 

"Johanna!  Helena!  "  muttered  he.  "Again  I  hear 
these  names,  names  carried  in  my  mind  so  many  years 
connecting  mother  and  daughter.  How  strange!  And 
at  the  same  time  'The  Amber  Heart,'  a  play  to  be 
presented  to-morrow.  But  how  does  that  concern  me? 
There  are  many  Johannas,  and  many  Helenas,  also 
many  amber  hearts,  in  the  world.  And  yet,  when  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  face,  what  a  marvelous  feeling 
came  over  me!  Think,  it  it  were  the  voice  of  kinship. 
If  this  girl  be  my  daughter,  she  whose  lover  bears 
the  same  name  as  my  wife's  seducer,  then  is  the  meas- 
ure heaped  to  overflowing.  The  last  link  is  forged 


o  t: 

a  o 

si 

^*? 

.s- 

« 


A   FAMILY  409 

in  the  chain  of  misfortune  with  which  cruel  fate  has 
pursued  me.  But  no,  I  rave!  Instinct  may  deceive 
me. 

"During  these  many  years  of  roaming  over  the  world, 
and  even  while  the  occupant  of  a  narrow  prison  cell, 
I  have  dreamed  of  my  daughter,  of  my  little  Helena. 
I  have  fancied  her  a  little  child,  half  frozen,  wander- 
ing the  streets  asking  alms,  and  with  the  thought  my 
heart  has  bled — a  heart  otherwise  calloused  by  misery 
and  crime — and  I  have  redoubled  my  exertions,  renewed 
my  search  with  augmented  eagerness.  The  hope  that 
I  might  find  her  pure  and  innocent  has  been  the  one 
star  that  has  lighted  my  weary  footsteps.  O,  how 
many  times  in  my  dreams  have  I  not  stretched  forth 
my  arms  as  if  I  had  found  her,  as  if  I  might  press 
her  to  my  breast !  Fate  has  been  cruel  to  me.  I  have 
asked  only  this  favor, to  find  my  daughter,  and  to  spend 
the  remaining  few  years  of  my  life  with  her.  My  hair 
has  grown  gray,  and  my  prayer  has  not  been  heard. 
But  now  a  feeling  possesses  me  that  I  have  found  her. 
Woe  is  me  if  it  be  so,  for  with  finding  her,  I  have 
lost  her  forever.  I  must  have  light  in  this  darkness. 
It  is  too  late  to-day,  however.  In  the  morning  I  will 
learn  my  fate,  and  if  my  presentiment  prove  true,  woe 
to  the  seducer  of  his  kin,  my  kin!  The  revenge  so 
long  suspended  shall  crush  them,  and  the  hand  that 
slew  my  wife's  seducer  is  yet  strong  enough  to  fell 
the  betrayer  of  my  daughter." 

Jacob  inspected  the  house  number  carefully  for  the 
purpose  of  impressing  it  indelibly  upon  his  mind,  and 
with  measured  step,  departed  on  his  weary  way. 

It  was  the  day  following  these  occurrences.  The 
pleasant  September  sun  was  shining  cheerily  through 
the  windows  of  Madame  Anderson's  room  in  We^terlang 


4-IO  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Street.  The  room  was  large  and  light,  also  very  com- 
fortably though  simply  furnished. 

Johanna,  for  so  we  will  call  her,  had  recently  suffered 
a  return  of  her  old  evil,  the  ague.  She  was  now  con- 
valescing, however,  and  sat  beside  the  fireplace,  in 
which  she  had  built  a  fire,  warming  her  feet. 

Accustomed  now  to  comforts,  and  no  longer  com- 
pelled to  work,  she  had  become  fleshy  and  phlegmatic. 
She  was  in  the  habit  also,  the  neighbors  under  the 
same  roof  declared,  of  taking  a  drop  too  much  at 
times.  This,  however,  Helena  was  not  aware  of,  for 
her  mother  entertained  too  much  respect  for  her  mag- 
nificent daughter,  not  to  conceal  the  bottle  when  a 
visit  was  looked  for. 

Johanna  still  lived  in  the  belief  that  George  was  no 
more  to  Helena  than  her  benefactor.  The  thought 
that  he  was  or  might  be  her  lover,  she  banished  from 
her  with  abhorrence,  tor,  though  her  senses  had  been 
much  blunted  of  late  by  prosperity  and  indulgence, 
her  own  experiences  told  her  that  for  the  fallen  wo- 
man there  is  no  longer  such  a  thing  as  real  felicity. 

She  was  happy  in  her  belief,  and  Helena  was  careful 
to  encourage  it.  Moreover,  she  was  proud  of  her 
daughter,  and  though  lately  the  intervals  between  her 
visits  had  grown  longer,  she  was  not  disposed  to  corn- 
pain  of  her  seeming  lack  of  attention.  "She  has,  of 
course,  a  great  deal  to  do,"  thought  she,  "in  prepara- 
tion for  her  part  in  the  play  in  which  she  is  to  ap- 
pear. " 

We  have  said  that  Johanna  was  sitting  before  the 
fireplace.  In  this  position,  her  back  was  toward  the 
door.  She  did  not  observe  it  quietly  open,  nor  the  en- 
trance of  a  visitor. 

Jacob,  for  it  was  he,  stood  motionless  and  fixed  his 


A   FAMILY  411 

gaze  upon  the  woman  before  him.  But  in  this  fat, 
coarse  figure  he  did  not  readily  recognize  his  former 
pretty  and  slender  wife.  Yet  he  would  not  depart 
without  seeing  her  face.  He  therefore  coughed  lightly 
to  attract  her  attention.  » 

Johanna  started  and  turned  around. 

Though  time  had  furrowed  his  countenance,  she  rec- 
ognized him  instantly  and,  with  hands  outstretched 
before  her,  she  uttered  a  shriek  of  alarm  and  horror. 

"It  is  she,"  said  Jacob  to  himself,  staggering  and 
leaning  against  the  wall  for  support.  "O,  my  sus- 
picions! I  was  not  deceived  then." 

"Jacob,  is  it  you  or  your  ghost!"  cried  Johanna,  half 
dead  from  fright. 

"Woman!"  said  Jacob  in  a  hollow  voice,  "I  am 
come  to  claim  my  child,  my  daughter,  for  whom  my 
heart  has  longed  these  many  years.  What  have  you 
done  with  her?" 

"You  are  alive  then,  Jacob;  I  thought  you  dead  long 
ago. " 

"Better  for  you,  perhaps,  were  it  so,"  continued 
Jacob  in  the  same  tones.  "But  I  am  alive,  as  you 
see." 

"I  understand.  You  are  poor  and,  having  learned  of 
my  good  fortune,  have  come  to  share  in  my  abund- 
ance. " 

Jacob's  lips  curled  scornfully. 

"I  am  come  to  demand  my  child,  I  have  told  you. 
Where  is  she?" 

"Your  child  lives,  and  neither  you  nor  I  need  blush 
for  her.  Besides,  it  seems  to  me  you  have  little  right 
to  make  such  a  demand,  having  left  us  so  many  years 
to  our  fate.  It  is  I  who  have  had  to  labor  and  toil 
for  her.  and.  bv  everything  that  is  right,  she  belongs 
to  me. 


412  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"You,  yes,  she  belongs  to  you,"  said  Jacob  bitterly. 
"You,  who  first  violated  your  marriage  vows  in  the 
arms  of  one  brother,  then  sold  our  child  to  the  other. 
Truly,  a  most  loving  mother.  You  have  filled  your 
calling  well;  you  have  a  right  to  be  proud  of  it." 

"Jacob!    What  in  God's  name  do  you  mean!" 

"Don't  be  so  innocent,  you  understand  me  well 
enough.  But  tell  me  first,  can  you,  by  your  hope  of 
salvation,  declare  that  Helena  is  my  daughter,  and  not 
his,  the  villain  for  whom  you  deserted  me?" 

"I  can,  Jacob,"  said  Johanna  earnestly.  "I  can 
swear  it  before  my  Maker.  Helena  was  born  four 
months  after  you  left  the  village  where  we  resided,  and 
my  acquaintance  with  Ehrenstam  had  then  extended 
over  only  a  few  months.  Helena  is  your  daughter,  I 
swear  it!" 

"So  much  the  worse." 

"How  so  much  the  worse?  You  said  just  now  that 
you  have  yearned  for  her  all  these  years." 

"Yes,  I  have  longed  to  see  my  daughter,  but  I  have 
hoped  to  find  her  pure  and  innocent,  if  also  poor. 
And  how  do  I  find  her?" 

"How!"  exclaimed  the  mother;  "Jacob,  you  have 
found  her  rich  and  happy!  You  have  found  her  beau- 
tiful, and  as  good  as  one  of  God's  angels.  We  have 
suffered  much,  Jacob;  we  have  starved  and  frozen, 
but  God  has  finally  rescued  us.  It  is  a  wonderful  dis- 
pensation. It  is  God's  finger,  that  a  brother  of  him 
who  seduced  me  into  sin  which  I  have  so  deeply  re- 
pented and  wept  over,  has  become  my  daughter's 
benefactor." 

"Benefactor! ;>  interrupted  Jacob  scornfully.  "He  has 
then  turned  good  genius,  the  young  Baron  Ehrenstam, 
whom  I  saw  yesterday  enter  this  house  accompanied 
by  a  young  lady." 


A    FAMILY 


413 


"Yes,"  interrupted  Johanna,  with  motherly  pride. 
"The  young  lady  you  -saw  yesterday  is  your  daughter. 
Is  she  not  beautiful?" 

"Yes,  very  beautiful,"  responded  Jacob  with  a  bitter 
smile,  "unfortunately  so  for  her." 

"And  she  is  accomplished.  She  can  play  and  she 
sings  like  a  little  angel.  For  all  this,  we  have  to  thank 
Baron  Ehrenstam,  who,  without  knowing  us,  upon  the 
recommendation  of  a  young  Mr.  Sterner,  whose  rooms 
I  took  care  of  at  Upsala,  undertook  her  education." 

"That  name  again!"  cried  Jacob. 

"Sterner." 

"And  his  given  name.      Do  you  know  what  it  is?" 

"Yes,   I  believe  it  is  Maurits. " 

"The  play  of  fate!  "  muttered  Jacob,  and,  without 
further  remark,  his  head  sank  upon  his  breast. 

"Helena  was  a  little  fourteen-year  old  girl  then," 
continued  Johanna.  "She  had  been  to  school  some, 
however,  and  had  learned  a  great  deal  a  few  )Tears  be- 
fore. For  it  was  as  if  fate  had  determined  she  should 
amount  to  something.  First  it  was  an  old  gentleman 
in  Stockholm  who  took  her  up,  charmed  by  her  beau- 
tiful voice,  heard  one  day  while  singing  in  the  streets. 
But  when  the  old  gentleman  died,  his  heirs  drove 
her  away,  whereupon  she  was  compelled  to  return  to 
me,  a  poor  creature  descended  to  a  common  house 
drudge.  Later,  we  moved  to  Upsala,  where  we  were 
reduced  to  the  most  straitened  circumstances,  when 
Baron  Ehrenstam,  God  bless  him,  chanced  to  see  her 
in  Mr.  Sterner's  room  where  she  was  singing  for  him 
and  some  other  gentlemen,  took  pity  on  her,  and  prom- 
ised to  help  her  perfect  herself  for  the  stage,  a  profes- 
sion she  had  always  longed  to  adopt.  Since  then,  we 
have  known  no  want  or  care,  thanks  to  the  baron's 


414  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

generosity  that  would  allow  us  to  want  for    nothing." 

"Woman!"  cried  Jacob  fiercely,  "you  have  sold  your 
daughter  and  you  bless  her  debaucher.  " 

"Sold!  Debaucher!"  repeated  Johanna  in  dismay. 
"No,  Jacob,  it  is  not  true.  My  Helena  is  innocent." 

"Simpleton!  Can  you  imagine  that  a  young  man 
of  rank  and  wealth  would  do  all  this  that  you  have 
told  me  for  a  poor  beggar  girl,  without  asking  seme 
return?  Can  you  be  so  stupid?  You  who  have  your- 
self had  an  experience  with  a  member  of  the  family?" 

"O,  Jacob,  your  words  are  terrible!  Take  them 
back.  Say  that  you  may  be  wrong.  My  Helena  can- 
not be  guilty.  No,  no,  I  cannot  believe  it.  It  would 
be  too  horrible!" 

Jacob  cast  a  searching  glance  at  his  wife. 

"Is  this  dissimulation?"  thought  he,  "or  can  it  be 
possible  that  this  woman  is  so  lack-brained,  so  blind, 
that  she  can  be  hoodwinked  into  imagining  that  this 
baron  is  not  something  else  than  a  good  Samaritan. 
If  it  were  so,  I  could  pity  her,  notwithstanding  all 
the  suffering  she  has  caused  me  by  her  crime  of  old." 

"Jacob,  Jacob!"  resumed  the  poor  woman,  wringing 
her  hands,  "you  are  silent,  you  do  not  answer  me.  O, 
say  that  Helena  has  not  fallen!  I  cannot,  I  will  not 
believe  it!  My  God!  Better  had  it  been  that  we  re- 
mained in  our  obscurity,  our  poverty,  even  though  we 
had  died  of  hunger." 

"How  long  is  it  since  you  became  so  conscientious, 
my  faithful  spouse?"  said  Jacob,  laughing  scornfully. 
"In  days  gone  by; when  you  allowed  the  brother  of  your 
daughter's  lover  to  caress  you,  you  were  not  so  scru- 
pulous. " 

"Jacob,  you  crush  me!"  wailed  Johanna,  hiding  her 
face  in  her  hands.  "There  is  no  charitableness  in  you. 


A   FAMILY  415 

Are  you  yourself  so  spotless,  hard  man?  Your  face, 
so  pale  and  haggard,  is  it  want  alone  that  has  made 
such  show  of  ravage  there?  Are  not  the  furrows  on 
your  forehead  the  index  of  crime?  And  you  come  here 
to  upbraid  me,  me,  who  have  suffered  so  cruelly  since 
you  left  me  to  my  fate.  You  are  feelingless,  feeling- 
Jess  as  a  stone,  Jacob." 

"I  have  not  come  to  upbraid  you  for  your  former  sin 
against  me,  I  have  forgiven  you  that.  You  ask,  have 
I  been  a  criminal.  That  question  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  matter  in  hand.  I  have  never  sinned  against 
you.  In  my  youth,  I  loved  you  above  all  else  on  earth, 
and  you  deceived  me.  But,  perhaps,  you  consider  it  a 
crime  that  I  surprised  you  in  the  arms  of  another. 
If  so,  bear  in  mind  that  I  spared  your  life,  for  you 
bared  your  breast  and  bade  me  thrust." 

"I  have  never  complained  because  of  your  leaving 
me,  Jacob.  I  deserved  nothing  better".  But  I  have 
felt  myself  enough  punished  for  my  crime,  and  have 
allowed  myself  to  believe  that  time  would  moderate 
your  anger,  and  now  you  come  to  demand  an  account 
of  your  daughter,  about  whom  you  have  not  concerned 
yourself  these  many  years  until  the  present.  When 
I  inform  you  that  our  daughter  lives  and  is  prosperous, 
you  answer  me,  she  lives  upon  her  shame." 

The  wretched  woman  hid  her  face  and  wept. 

Jacob  contemplated  her  in  silence. 

"You  asked  me,"  continued  Johanna  after  a  time, 
"how  long  I  have  been  so  conscientious  that  I  would 
look  upon  my  daughter's  fall  as  a  misfortune.  O, 
Jacob,  my  own  sufferings,  my  own  bitter  experiences, 
have  taught  me  that  there  can  be  no  more  pitiable 
unfortunate  than  the  sinner.  I  have,  therefore,  always 
prayed  to  God  to  keep  Helena  pure  and  innocent.  I 


416  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

have  had  no  cause  for  doubting  her  virtue.  I  do  not 
question  it  now,  notwithstanding  your  suspicions  to 
the  contrary." 

"Very  well,  nurse  your  trust  and  get  what  comfort 
out  of  it  you  may,  deceived  deceiver,"  said  Jacob 
scornfully.  "But  woe  to  him,  the  villain,  that  has 
plucked  the  blossom  which  I,  the  refugee,  the  pariah, 
have  so  long  expected  to  find  in  my  child,  the  only 
thing  I  have  dared  to  hope  fate  would  leave  me.  Woe 
to  him  and  his  accursed  family!  I  will  pursue  them 
with  my  vengeance  so  long  as  there  is  a  member  left!" 

Jacob's  features  had  assumed  an  expression  of  ter- 
rible malignity.  The  red,  ill-kept  beard,  the  deep 
sunken  eyes  in  which  the  flame  of  hate  was  seen  to 
burn,  the  bristly,  uncombed  hair,  already  sprinkled 
with  gray,  more  from  sorrow  than  by  age,  all  this  gave 
the  unhappy  man  a  horrible  aspect 

"Jacob,  Jacob!"  cried  Johanna  in  terror,  "think  what 
you  would  do,  and  act  with  deliberation.  Ought  you, 
upon  a  mere  suspicion,  to  feel  yourself  justified  in 
pursuing  with  your  vengeance  the  one  who  has  made 
your  daughter  all  she  is?" 

"Yes,  just  because  he  has  made  her  what  she  is," 
interrupted  Jacob  with  a  gloomy  frown.  "Just  be- 
cause of  that  I  will  follow  him.  Johanna,  I  will  be- 
lieve that  you  are  deceived;  that  the  scoundrel  feigned 
the  most  honorable  motives  in  his  interest,  and  that 
you  were  blind  enough  to  confide  in  him.  But  he  shall 
not  pull  the  wool  over  my  eyes.  I  assure  you,  1  will 
exact  from  him  a  terrible  reckoning.  He  may  tremble 
at  the  fate  of  his  half-brother." 

"Great  God!"  shrieked  Johanna.  "It  was  you  then, 
who  murdered  him,  Jacob!  I  have  suspected  as  much." 

"Hush,  woman*"  roared    the    beggar,  stamping    his 


A   FAMILY  417 

foot  upon  the  floor.  Do  not  again  allow  a  word  of 
such  a  suspicion  to  escape  your  lips.  Otherwise,  I 
may  be  tempted  to  seal  them  forever." 

At  this  instant,  light  footsteps  were  heard  on  the 
stairs.  The  door  opened,  and  Helena,  beaming  with 
youth  and  beauty,  tripped  into  the  room. 

The  young  girl  did  not  at  once  observe  the  beggar, 
who  had  drawn  himself  back  into  a  corner,  but  with- 
out looking  around  hastened  forward  to  her  mother, 
now  standing  motionless  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

"Good  morning,  dear  mother!"  exclaimed  she  care- 
lessly. "I  would  not  drive  by  without  running  up  to 
see  how  you  are  getting  along  to-day.  You  are  bet- 
ter, I  observe,  and  I  will,  therefore,  leave  you  at  once. 
I  am  in  a  hurry,  you  must  know,  for  I  am  on  my  way 
to  the  opera  house  to  rehearsal.  To-night  decides  my 
fate  as  an  actress.  But,  great  heavens!  Mother,  you 
do  not  answer.  You  seem  disturbed  and  look  at  me 
in  such  a  strange  manner.  What  ails  you?" 

The  mother  did  not  respond. 

Helena  cast  a  hasty  glance  around  the  room,  and 
for  the  first  time,  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  ragged  being 
leaning  against  the  wall. 

The  glance  of  father  and  daughter  met  for  an  in- 
stant. Jacob  pressed  his  hand  against  his  beating 
heart,  while  a  light  cloud  of  displeasure  flitted  across 
Helena's  white  forehead.' 

"Do  you  receive  beggars  here,  mother?"  inquired 
Helena.  "What  does  this  man  wish?" 

No  one  answered.  The  parents  stood  speechless, 
one  on  each  side  of  their  daughter,  who  might  have 
brought  about  a  reunion  but  for — 

Upon  a  spectator  who  knew  what  the  lot  of  these 
three  persons,  now  so  wonderfully  brought  together, 


41 8  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

had  been,  this  silent  scene    would  have    made  a    deep 
and  lasting  impression. 

On  the  one  side  the  woman, usually  so  dull  and  phleg- 
matic, now  a  prey  to  the  keenest  emotions,  called  out  by 
the  bitter  utterances  of  her  husband;  to  the  deepest 
contrition  caused  by  the  misgivings  about  her  idolized 
daughter;  for  who. can  question  that  even  the  children 
of  nature,  the  raw,  the  untutored,  feel  deeply  and 
keenly — deeper  and  keener,  maybe,  than  the  educated  . 
men  and  women  of  the  world — a  father's  or  mother's 
wound  of  the  heart.  On  the  other  side,  the  father, 
clad  in  the  garb  of  a  beggar,  he  who  had  cherished  so 
long  the  hope  that  he  might  some  day  press  his  child, 
pure  and  undefiled,  to  his  bosom,  and  in  whose  breast 
the  most  conflicting  feelings  were  struggling,  feelings 
of  tenderness,  of  sorrow,  of  scorn,  upon  finding  her 
now  in  the  full  bloom  of  youth  and  beauty,  but  know- 
ing that  the  pomp  and  splendor  that  surrounded  her 
were  bought  at  the  cost  of  her  virtue;  and,  finally, 
between  the  two,  the  young  and  charming  girl,  upon 
whose  face  one  could  read  only  astonishment,  mixed 
with  a  slight  disquietude,  at  sight  of  her  unknown 
father's  almost  repulsive  figure  and  brutal  countenance; 
all  this  together  formed  a  family  picture  of  the  most 
peculiar  and  unusual  character. 

Helena  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"Mother,"  said  she,   "you  do  not  answer  me.      What 
am  I  to  understand?     Who  is  this  man?" 

"Helena!  "  cried  the  mother  with  broken  voice,  "he 
is — "  • 

But  Jacob  made  a  sign  of  disapproval. 

The  mother  was  silent  again. 

"He  came,  I    suppose,  to  ask  alms,"    said    Helena, 
still  in  wonder,   "and  you    have    nothing    to  give  him, 


A  FAMILY  419 

maybe.  See  here,  I  will  give  it  for  you,"  thereupon 
taking  from  her  purse  a  small  silver  coin  which  she 
proffered  the  supposed  beggar. 

The  blood  mounted  to  Jacob's  pale  cheeks!  Violent 
passions  raged  within  his  breast,  but  he  remained 
silent,  and  pushed  his  daughter's  hand  from  him.  At 
this  instant,  the  door  was  opened  abruptly,  and  George 
Ehrenstam  entered. 

"What  an  outrageous  long  wait  you  are  giving  me, 
Helena!"  said  he.  "Come  now,  for  the  horses  will 
not  stand,  and,  besides,  you  must  not  be  late  at  the 
rehearsal.  Ah,"  added  he,  with  an  ironic  smile,  upon 
observing  the  coin  in  the  girl's  hand,  "you  are  about 
to  perform  an  act  of  charity,  I  see.  How  did  this 
ragamuffin  come  here?" 

"An  extraordinary  beggar,"  said  Helena,  taking 
George's  arm,  "for  he  will  not  accept  the  alms  I  have 
offered  him.  But  come,  George." 

"But,"  added  she  in  a  whisper,  "ought  we  to  leave 
my  mother  here  alone  with  that  man?  He  looks  like 
a  band-it.  " 

"Get  out  of  this!"  said  George  addressing  Jacob. 
There  is  the  door,  do  you  see  it?" 

Jacob  remained  silent,  but  scanned  the  young  man 
with  a  glance  in  which  such  an  implacable  hate,  such 
a  deadly  malice,  burned  that  George  involuntarily  drew 
back  in  confusion. 

Recovering  himself  quickly,  he  continued: 

"Did  you  hear?  Go  at  once  that  I  may  escape  defil- 
ing myself  with  your  rags,  as  will  be  necessary  if  I 
must  throw  you  out." 

"Hold,  hold,  baron!  "  cried  Johanna.  "Let  him  re- 
main. Do  not  touch  him,  he  is — " 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  George,  as  Johanna  ceased. 
Jacob  again  made  a  sign  of  caution. 


42O  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Do  not  mind,"  continued  Johanna,  "he  is  an  ac- 
quaintance of  my  childhood.  He  has  been  unfortunate, 
and  is  poor,  but  I  will  not  despise  him  for  that.  Do 
not  disturb  him." 

"As  you  please,"  said  George.      "Come,  Helena." 

Opening  the  door,  he  departed,  accompanied  by  the 
young  girl  who,  with  a  hasty  bow,  took  leave  of  her 
mother. 

"Well,"  said  Jacob,  when  the  carriage  had  gone, 
"do  you  not  mark  the  familiarity  which  they  make  no 
attempt  to  conceal  from  you?  And  yet  you  believe  in 
your  daughter's  innocence!" 

"Oh!  no!  My  eyes  have  been  opened,"  broke  in 
the  unhappy  woman,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands, 
and  sinking  exhausted  with  emotion  upon  the  bed. 

Jacob  cast  another  glance  at  his  wife,  opened  the 
door  and  departed. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    PLAY 

The  elegant  equipages  of  the  aristocracy  of  Stock- 
holm rolled,  in  greater  numbers  than  usual,  over  Gus- 
tav  Adolf's  place  to  the  opera  house.  In  a  few  min- 
utes, every  box,  every  chair,  even  to  the  last  in  the 
amphitheater,  was  filled  with  a  motley  gathering.  Not 
for  many  a  day  had  the  house  been  so  crowded  as 
now. 

A  full  seated  theater  is  a  world  in  miniature.  The 
social  stairs  from  the  first  to  the  fifth  flight  is  there 
clearly  and  sharply  defined,  the  only  difference  being 
that  in  the  theater  the  mob  occupies  the  most  elevated 
position  while  riches  and  rank  content  themselves  with 
the  lower  steps. 

The  house,  as  we  have  said,  was  full,  when  a  young 
man  wrapped  in  a  light  cloak  entered  the  lower  am- 
phitheater, pushed  his  way  through  the  throng,  and 
took  a  seat  in  the  middle  of  the  first  row  of  seats  in 
the  neighborhood  of  the  orchestra.  This  young  man 
was  the  personage  in  chief  of  our  narrative,  Maurits 
Sterner,  author  of  the  piece  about  to  be  played.  No 
one  in  the  vast  gathering  knew  this,  however. 

Maurits  had  arrived  in  the  city  during  the  forenoon. 
He  had  come  to  see  the  piece  performed,  and  what 
wonder  if  the  young  author's  heart  beat  uneasily  as  he 
waited  for  the  curtain  to  be  rung  up.  Having  had  no 
opportunity  to  get  a  program,  he  did  not  yet  know  by 

421 


422  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

whom  the  characters  were  to  be  represented.  He  had 
heard  only  that  a  young  actress  was  to  make  her  debut 
in  the  principal  role,  but  as  Helena  had  assumed  an- 
other name  since  she  had  entered  the  theater,  Maurits 
did  not  dream  of  seeing  his  former  pupil  in  the  piece. 
Turning  to  his  neighbor  on  his  right,  a  thick  set,  jolly 
looking  little  gentleman,  he  asked  permission  to  look 
at  his  program. 

"With  pleasure,"  answered  the  person  addressed, 
handing  the  program  to  Maurits,  "you  may  retain  it 
for  the  evening.  I  learned  it  before  coming,  so  do 
not  require  it." 

Maurits  perused  the  paper. 

"I  recognize,  by  their  names,  all  the  persons  who 
are  to  appear  in  the  play,"  said  he,  "except  Mademoi- 
selle Roos.  Who  is  she?" 

'O,  that  is  the  debutante,"  answered  the  little  man. 
"You  are  not  a  resident  of  Stockholm,  I  observe, 
otherwise  you  must  have  heard  the  talk  of  the  whole 
city." 

"No,"  answered  -Maurits,  "I  am  from  Upsala,  and 
arrived  in  the  capital  only  a  few  hours  ago.  That  it 
is  Mademoiselle  Roos  who  is  to  make  her  debut,  I 
knew  before,  but  who  is  Mademoiselle  Roos,  where  is 
she  from,  and  how  does  she  play?  As  you  are  a  res- 
ident of  the  city,  you  can  perhaps  enlighten  me  on 
these  points."' 

"Ah,  who  can  tell  where  all  these  artists  come  from! 
Actresses  and  actors  grow  up  like  mushrooms  from 
the  ground,  their  origin  unknown  to  any  one." 

"Is  her  name  Helena!"  interrupted  Maurits  eagerly. 

"Yes.  And  if  you  would  know  more  about  her,  ask 
the  young  gentleman  sitting  yonder  in  the  first  row  of 
the  fifth  box— that  handsome  young  man  in  the  uniform 
of  the  guards,  do  you  see  him?" 


THE    PLAY  423 

Maurits'  eyes  followed  the  direction  indicated  by 
his  neighbor.  As  if  he  had  been  enchanted,  they  were 
fixed  upon  the  person  pointed  out.  The  blood  rushed 
swiftly  to  his  cheeks,  and  a  thousand  emotions  surged 
through  him  at  the  sight  that  met  his  gaze.  In  the 
box  were  five  persons.  In  front  sat  the  elder  Baron 
Ehrenstam  at  the  side  of  his  lad}'.  Back  of  him 
George,  with  a  young  lady  whose  features  Maurits  was 
unable  to  distinguish  perfectly,  half  hidden  as  they 
were  by  a  large  hat  from  which  a  veil  fell  over  her  fore- 
head and  eyes.  Back  of  the  young  lady  stood  a  young, 
elegantly  attired  gentleman  who  frequently  leaned  for- 
ward and  addressed  her  in  low  tones.  Maurits  seemed 
to  know  that  this  was  Isabella  Ehrenstam,  she  whom 
he  had  rescued  in  his  boyhood  from  drowning,  and  the 
heroine  of  his  play. 

Busy  with  the  earlier  recollections  that  the  sight  of 
this  family  awoke  in  his  breast,  Maurits  forgot  wholly 
the  object  that  had  first  caught  his  attention. 

The  elder  Baron  Ehrenstam  had  aged  considerably 
since  Maurits  saw  him  last,  one  of  the  hunting  party 
in  the  forest.  His  locks  had  grown  gray,  but  the 
same  hard  lines  were  still  clearly  defined  around  his 
lips;  the  same  unyielding  iron  will  was  still  stamped 
upon  that  high  cold  forehead.  His  wife  was  noticea- 
bly fleshier,  and  her  face  had  assumed  an  expression 
of  dullness,  such  as  an  aimless  and  indolent  life  ac- 
companied by  luxury  seldom  fails  to  produce.  She 
now  bore  the  appearance  of  a  matron  of  forty  or  there- 
about. 

Maurits  was  aroused  from  his  dream  by  his  little 
neighbor  pulling  lightly  at  his  coat. 

"I  see  by  your  expression  that  you  are  anxious  to 
know  more  about  the  occupants  of  that  box." 


424  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"No,"  said  Maurits  absently,  "they  are  not  strangers 
to  me." 

"Well,  then,  you  ought  to  know,  if  so  be,  that  the 
young  Baron  Ehrenstam  is  keeping  the  little  Helena, 
and  it  is  understood  he  has  educated  her  for  the  stage. 
She  is  said  to  have  been  a  peasant  girl  whom  the 
baron  met  while  residing  at  Upsala." 

"It  is  then  my  former  pupil  who  is  to  play  the  part 
of  Isabella,"  said  Maurits  to  himself.  "My  God!  How 
strange!" 

What  would  Maurits  have  said  had  he  known  that 
Helena  was  the  daughter  of  the  man  whose  fate  had 
given  him  the  theme  upon  which  the  play  was  founded? 
But  he  did  not  know  it  yet,  and  his  thoughts  soon 
drifted  from  the  debutante  to  the  half  veiled  lady  in 
the  box  who  had  at  first  attracted  his  attention,  and 
whom  he  believed  to  be  Isabella. 

He  turned  again  to  his   neighbor. 

"Can  you  tell  me  who  the  young  lady  sitting  with 
Baron  Ehrenstam  is?  It  is  an  outrage  that  one  can- 
not be  allowed  to  see  her  face." 

"That  is  the  baron's  daughter,  and  one  of  the  weal- 
thiest heiresses  in  Sweden. " 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  the  family?" 

"I  have  had  business  with  the  baron,  and  know 
something  about  his  family,  therefore.  And  let  me 
add,  the  girl  is  the  only  one  of  them  that  I  like  at 
all.  She  is  gentle  and  good,  while  the  others  are 
vain,  haughty  and  heartless." 

':Is  she  betrothed?"  asked  Maurits. 

"No.  Her  father  wishes  her  to  marry  the  gentleman 
sitting  alone  there  in  the  third  box  and  first  row  ob- 
liquely across  from  the  baron's.  Do  you  see  him?" 

Maurits  looked  up,  and  saw  his  brother. 


THE    tLAY  425 

Count  Eberhard  sat  alone.  His  dark  countenance, 
not  once  lighted  up  by  a  smile,  was  white  and  care- 
worn; his  eyes  lay  deep  in  their  sockets,  and  upon  his 
forehead  suffering  and  excesses  had  plowed  their  many 
furrows.  Though  it  was  only  the  beginning  of  autumn, 
he  was  wrapped  in  a  costly  sable  mantle.  He  had 
folded  his  arms  across  his  breast,  and,  sunk  in  deep 
thought,  he  seemed  dead  to  the  thousand  voices  that 
hummed  around  him. 

"That  young  man,"  resumed  the  obliging  neighbor, 
"is— 

"I  know  who  he  is,"  interrupted  Maurits,  "it  is 
Count  Stjernekrantz." 

"You  seem  to  know  all  Stockholm,  my  young  friend," 
said  the  little  man;  "but,  pardon  the  question,  are  you 
not  related  to  the  count,  perhaps?" 

"No;  why  do  you  ask?" 

"You  resemble  him  strikingly.  The  same  forehead, 
the  same  eyes,  the  same  nose,  with  just  this  difference, 
you  look  younger  and  less  worn  out." 

"O,  such  freaks  of  nature  are  not  uncommon,"  said 
Maurits. 

His  neighbor  made  no  further  remark,  and  Maurits 
took  his  opera  glasses,  and  began  to  scan  the  audience. 

The  royal  box  was  still  unoccupied.  It  was  known 
that  the  Crown  Prince,  with  his  spouse,  was  expected, 
and  therefore  the  lifting  of  the  curtain,  and  beginning 
of  the  play,  was  delayed  awaiting  their  coming. 

Maurits'  eyes  wandered  around  even  to  the  topmost 
row  of  seats.  Presently  he  started.  In  a  corner  of 
the  fifth  gallery,  he  discovered  a  face  whose  features 
were  too  deeply  engraved  upon  his  mind  for  him  ever 
to  forget  it.  It  was  that  of  Jacob  Kron,  the  beggar, 
the  bandit,  the  fratricide.  When  his  glance  fell  from 


426  THE    PLAY   OF    FATE 

this  repugnant  object,  it  rested  upon  the  elegant  com- 
pany in  Baron  Ehrenstam's  box. 

"Father  here!  Son  here!  "  thought  Maurits.  "Let 
God  judge  between  them." 

At  this  point,  the  doors  of  the  royal  box  were  thrown 
open,  and  the  young  and  much  loved  Crown  Prince 
entered  with  his  spouse  at  his  side.  The  whole  house 
rose,  and  saluted  respectfully.  The  curtain  flew  up  at 
once,  and  the  play  began. 

Maurits  turned  his  eyes  to  the  stage  to  see  his  own 
thoughts  appear  personified. 

It  will  not  be  demanded  that  we  reproduce  the  play 
here  in  its  entirety.  The  material  from  which  it  was 
'constructed  was  taken  in  part  from  his  own  life  and 
partly  from  Jacob's  story.  A  great  deal  of  the  intrigue 
was  imaginary,  however.  The  first  acts  were  designed 
to  portray  the  wonderful  play  of  fate,  but  demonstrat- 
ing, also,  that  there  is  a  providence  always  directing- 
for  the  best.  Many  touching  scenes  which  transpired 
at  long  intervals  from  each  other,  and  in  different 
regions,  were  introduced.  The  hero  of  play  the  was 
a  young  man  who,  through  his  own  and  the  unhappy 
fate  of  the  mistress  of  his  heart,  Isabella — Helena 
— is  tempted  to  abandon  faith  in  a  higher  power,  and 
to  give  himself  up  to  the  gloomy  and  irreconcilable 
teachings  of  the  fatalist.  The  struggle  in  his  breast 
that  came  from  above,  from  heaven,  and  the  evil  de- 
mons that  came  from  the  earth  below,  Maurits  had 
depicted  with  surprising  fidelity,  with  an  appalling 
truth;  and  this  was  possible  to  him,  for  he  had  lived 
through  the  struggle.  The  evil  genius  of  the  play, 
as  Maurits  had  conceived  it,  the  author  of  all  the 
misfortunes  of  the  lovers,  was  a  character  very  much 
resembling  Baron  Ehrenstam,  and  there  were  presented, 


THE    PLAY 


427 


also,  a  number  of  incidents  from  the  baron's  past  life; 
as  for  instance,  that  when  he  snatched  the  amber 
heart  from  the  hand  of  his  son  and  ejected  him  from 
his  magnificent  mansion,  also  that  where  the  son  later, 
despair  and  revenge  raging  in  his  heart,  laid  in  am- 
bush for  his  father  and  nearly  killed  him.  Thus  Baron 
Ehrenstam,  seated  in  his  comfortable  box,  saw  pictures 
from  his  own  past  spread  before  him,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  he  paled  and  trembled  with  horror. 

Helena,  upon  her  entrance,  was  received  with  storms 
of  applause,  and  a  shower  of  bouquets  from  George  and 
his  friends.  This  homage  embarrassed  her  somewhat 
at  first,  but  she  soon  recovered  herself,  and  executed 
her  role  with  a  power  that  fairly  transported  the  spec- 
tators. She  was  pathetic  in  her  grief,  and  sublime 
in  her  anguish  and  despair.  There  were  not  a  few 
scenes  in  which  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  house. 
There  were  dialogues  in  which  the  language  soared 
into  the  realms  of  sublimity,  poetical,  yet  free  from 
exaggeration  and  excess  of  pathos.  The  continually 
increasing  shouts  of  applause,  and  the  hand-clapping, 
was  acknowledgment  that  the  author  as  well  as  the 
debutante  had  made  a  brilliant  success. 

There  were  only  three  persons  in  the  house  who 
followed  the  play  word  for  word,  watched  every  new 
conception  with  the  most  eager  attention,  but  with- 
out utterance  either  in  approbation  or  disapproval, 
almost  without  a  sign  that  betokened  their  agitation 
of  mind.  These  three  were  the  elder  Baron  Ehren- 
stam, Maurits  and  Jacob.  We  need,  not  tell  the  reader 
why  these  three  persons,  one  in  the  ampthitheater, 
the  other  in  the  first,  and  the  third  in  the  fifth  gallery, 
silent  and  unmoved,  kept  their  eyes  so  intently  fixed 
upon  every  scene.  One  was  the  author,  the  others 


428  THE    PLAY    OFFATE 

characters  in  the  drama,  though  their  roles  were  played 
by  others. 

Midst  roars  of  applause,  the  curtain  fell  on  the  first 
act.  Maurits  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  again  scanned 
the  audience.  N  early  every  woman  was  drying  her 
eyes.  What  a  harvest  of  diamonds  for  the  young  au- 
thor. His  heart  swelled  with  a  pardonable  pride. 

"This  assemblage,"  thought  he,  "so  brilliant,  so 
splendid,  among  whom  there  is  hardly  one  who  does 
not  feel  that  the  poor  student  is  a  being  to  be  looked 
down  upon,  to  be  spurned — this  gathering  of  Stock- 
holm's most  illustrious  and  talented — is  now  swayed 
by  my  spirit.  It  is  I,  insignificant  I, who  have  touched 
the  chords  to  their  finer  feelings,  luring  tears  to  their 
eyes,  or  tempting  smiles  to  their  lips.  It  is  the  power 
of  genius,  the  genius  that  the  moneyed  and  born  aris- 
tocracy feels  it  may  deride  in  the  theater  of  the  world, 
to  which  they  are  made  to  bow  in  this.  The  simple- 
tons! As  if  their  miserable  gold,  or  their  fragile  coat 
of  arms,  possessed  the  power  to  awake  a  single 
thought,  such  as  descend  from  the  heavens  to  the 
brain  of  man  in  the  holy  moments  of  inspiration." 

"By  my  soul!"  said  the  little  man  on  the  right,  "that 
piece  is  well  written.  If  the  coming  acts  are  like  the 
first,  there  are  few,  if  any,  dramatic  productions  in 
our  language  that  can  compare  with  it." 

Maurits  remained  silent. 

"You  do  not  answer, "  continued  the  speaker.  "What 
is  your  opinion?" 

"I  will  tell  you  when  it  is  finished." 

"It  seems  to  me,  however,"  resumed  the  little  man, 
"that  the  author  has  overdone  the  thing  somewhat. 
Such  a  heartless  and  unyielding  egoism  as  is  repre- 
sented in  that  baron,  can  hardly  exist  elsewhere  than 
in  fancy." 


THE    PLAY  429 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  Maurits,  fixing  his  eyes 
upon  Baron  Ehrenstam's  box. 

Pale  as  a  ghost,  silent  and  motionless,  his  gaze  fixed 
upon  the  fallen  curtain,  sat  the  baron,  while  the  other 
occupants  of  the  box  kept  up  a  lively  conversation, 
apparently  comparing  notes  on  the  play. 

Maurits  grasped  in  an  instant  the  current  of  thought 
that  was  flooding  the  baron's  mind. 

"I  am  revenged!"  muttered  the  young  author  to  him- 
self. "For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  the  voice  of  con- 
science speaks  in  threatening  tones  within  him.  At 
this  instant  he  believes  himself  the  object  of  a  thou- 
sand eyes  whose  glances  are  all  directed  toward  him 
alone.  Public  opinion  condemns  him,  has  long  con- 
demned him,  but  only  in  silence.  He  sees  himself 
now  for  the  first  time  judged  by  the  world,  and  he 
shudders  at  his  own  picture.  It  is  good.  1  did  a 
capital  thing  when  I  wrote  this  play." 

Maurits  still  endeavored  to  see  Isabella's  face,  but 
in  vain.  It  was  turned,  for  the  most  part,  toward 
some  courtly  gentleman  who  had  just  entered  the  box, 
and  joined  in  the  conversation. 

The  hum  of  the  thousand  voices  was  now  hushed  by 
the  ringing  strains  of  music  from  the  orchestra  execut- 
ing an  overture  from  one  of  the  most  popular  operas 
of  the  day,  and  the  lovers  of  music  lent  their  ears  to 
catch  the  charming  tones. 

The  music  ceased,  and  the  curtain  was  again  run  up. 

We  will  not  attempt  to  follow  the  play  step  by  step. 
We  will  only  observe  that  it  possessed  a  merit  lacking 
in  most  dramas,  namely,  from  beginning  to  end  the 
interest  was  unflagging,  which  was  recognized  in  every 
act  by  the  applause  accorded  it. 

Between  the  fourth  and  fifth  acts,  Maurits'  new  ac- 


43°  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

quaintance,  leaning  over,  whispered  in  his  ear:  "Do 
you  know,  sir,  that  the  author  of  this  remarkable  play 
is  believed  to  be  among  us?  Everybody  wishes  to 
know  who  he  is,  and  we  have  agreed  here  in  the  am- 
phitheater to  call  him  out  at  its  conclusion  together 
with  the  beautiful  debutante.  It  is  hoped  he  can  be 
induced  to  appear  on  the'stage  to  receive  the  public 
approbation." 

"Do  you  think  it  would  be  proper?"  asked  Maurits. 

"Why  not  if  the  public  wishes  it?  In  foreign  thea- 
ters, it  is  quite  the  thing." 

"You  think  then — ?" 

"I  think  the  author,  if  he  is  here,  need  not  be  back- 
ward about  accepting  the  thanks  of  the  public.  The 
public  will  call  him  theirs  for  the  pleasure  this  beau- 
tiful play  has  given  them.  The  man  in  good  fortune 
need  not  hide  himself  under  a  pseudonym  that  sooner 
or  later  must  be  penetrated." 

"You  are  no  doubt  right,  sir." 

The  rise  of  the  curtain  for  the  last  act  interrupted 
the  conversation. 

The  silence  of  the  grave  prevailed  throughout  the 
house,  while  the  spectators,  with  the  utmost  attention 
and  interest,  followed  every  word,  every  gesture  of 
the  actors.  There  remained  now  only  one  scene,  the 
most  beautiful  and  touching  of  all,  the  reconciliation. 
Maurits  rose  from  his  seat  and,  to  the  great  surprise 
of  the  surrounding  spectators  who  openly  manifested 
their  disapproval,  disappeared  from  the  amphitheater, 
and  made  his  way  toward  the  stage.  He  found  the 
door  opening  into  the  rear  of  the  scenes  open,  and 
mounting  the  stairs,  he  was  soon  among  the  wings. 

"Whom  are  you  seeking,  sir?"  sharply  asked  an  actor 
met  there. 


THE    PLAY  431 

"No  one,"  answered  Maurits  artlessly,  "but  as  I  am 
the  author  of  the  play  just  presented,  I  have  come  to 
thank  you  and  your  companions  for  the  faithfulness 
with  which  you  have  represented  my  characters.  With- 
out your  talent,  my  play  must  surely  have  failed." 

"No,  no,  sir!  On  the  contrary,  your  genius  inspired 
us.  I  am  deeply  pleased  to  have  met  a  young  author 
who  has  made  such  a  happy  hit.  Allow  me  to  present 
my  comrades.  Your  name;  please. " 

Maurits  gave  his  name. 

Soon  a  number  of  actors  had  gathered  around  the 
3'oung  author,  loading  him  with  compliments.  Helena 
was  still  on  the  'stage,  wherefore  an  opportunity  to 
speak  with  her  was  not  presented. 

During  the  conversation  between  Maurits  and  his 
new  found  friends,  carried  on  in  an  undertone,  of 
course,  in  order  not  to  interfere  with  the  progress  of 
the  play,  the  curtain  fell  amidst  thunders  of  applause 
which  it  seemed  would  never  cease. 

Soon  loud  shouts  were  raised:  "The  author!  Mad- 
emoiselle Roos!"  The  former  seemingly  the  louder,  for 
it  rang  from  every  corner  of  the  house,  while  Helena's 
name  was  heard  from  a  comparatively  small  number 
of  voices. 

Maurits  looked  around  for  the  young  debutante,  but 
she  had  disappeared  among  the  scenes  on  the  opposite 
side. 

The  shouts  continued  with  augmented  volume,  ac- 
companied by  stamping  of  feet,  hand-clapping,  pound- 
ing of  canes  and  umbrellas,  while  above  all  rang  the 
cry,  "The  author!  Mademoiselle  Roos!" 

"They  are  calling  you,"  said  the  actor  who  had  first 
addressed  Maurits.  "The  public  is  anxious  to  know 
you,  and  I  do  not  wonder." 


432  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"What  shall  I  do,"  asked  Maurits. 

"What  shall  you  do!   What  else  but  go  in  and  make 
your  bow  at  least. " 

"Very  well.      Let  the  curtain  be  raised." 

The  actor  gave  a  signal,  and  the  curtain  sprang 
aloft.  Maurits  threw  off  his  cloak  and  stepped  for- 
ward on  to  the  stage  from  one  side  at  the  same  instant 
that  Helena  entered  from  the  other.  Their  eyes  met. 
Blushes  and  a  deathlike  pallor  passed  by  turns  over 
the  face  of  the  young  girl  at  such  an  unexpected  meet- 
ing. She  staggered,  and  was  compelled  to  seek  the 
support  of  a  table  that  by  chance  had  been  left  on  the 
stage.  There  was  noticeable  in  Maurits'  glance  an  ex- 
pression of  sorrowful  earnestness  and  mild  reproach, 
and  it  struck  deep  into  the  soul  of  the  actress,  destroy- 
ing wholly  the  sweets  of  her  evening's  triumph.  The 
shouts  of  applause  and  the  hand-clapping  were  lost 
on  her  ears.  The  mat  of  flowers  strewn  around  her  by 
the  young  cavaliers  in  the  boxes  and  the  occupants 
of  the  amphitheater  was  unseen;  there  was  in  this 
moment  of  triumph  only  a  single  feeling,  shame. 
Maurits  heard  and  saw  all  that  was  transpiring  before 
him,  however.  He  observed  that  the  ladies  waved 
their  handkerchiefs  more  at  him,  and  that  the  shower 
of  bouquets  was  directed  more  at  him  than  at  the 
beaytiful  actress,  and  his  young  heart  swelled  with 
pride.  Who  of  you,  my  readers,  will  blame  him  there- 
for? Suddenly  there  came  from  one  of  the  audience, 
"The  author's  name!"  taken  up  by  a  thousand  voices. 
"Your  name!  What  is  your  name?"  came  from  all 
sides. 

Maurits  made  a  signal  with  his  hand,  and  instantly 
all  was  quiet,  all  listened  with  eager  attention. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  the    young    author  in 


THE    PLAY 


433 


a  voice  trembling  with  emotion,  "though  feeling  that 
I  little  merit  this  mark  of  your  approval,!  am  disposed 
not  to  deny  myself  the  pleasure  your  commendation 
gives  me  and  to  avail  myself,  also,  of  the  opportunity 
to  tender  you  my  heartfelt  thanks.  My  name  is  Mau- 
rits  Sterner,and  my  occupation— I  really  have  no  other 
than  with  my  books." 

The  curtain  fell  amidst  renewed  applause,  but  not 
too  quickly  for  Maurits  to  have  noticed  how  Count 
Eberhard,  at  other  times  so  cold  and  indifferent,  sprang 
from  his  seat  and  fixed  his  troubled  gaze  upon  the 
speaker,  also  to  see  him  fall  back  into  his  seat  and 
draw  his  hand  across  his  forehead. 

When  Maurits  looked  around  him  after  the  curtain 
had  fallen,  Helena  was  lying  in  a  swoon  on  the  floor. 

"My  God?      The  j-oung  debutante  has  fainted,"  cried 
actors  and  actresses  in  one  voice,  almost    falling  over 
each  other  in    their  eagerness    to  be    of  some    service 
"Take  her  into    her    dressing-room!      Poor    child,  she 
was  unable  to  bear  such  great  prosperity." 

Maurits  smiled.  He  alone  knew  it  was  not  her 
success  that  had  caused  her  fainting.  During  the 
commotion,  he  threw  his  cloak  over  his  shoulders  and 
was  about  to  depart.  At  the  door,  he  was  met  by  one 
of  the  Crown  Prince's  chamberlains. 

"Are  you  the  author  of  this  play,  sir?" 

Maurits  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"Follow  me  to  the  royal  box.  His  highness  wishes 
to  speak  with  you." 

With  beating  heart,  Maurits  accompanied  his  con- 
ductor through  the  corridors  and  a  crowd  of  people, 
all  of  whom  were  eyeing  him  curiously.  As  he  was 
about  to  enter  the  first  row  of  boxes,  he  came  upon 
George  piloting  two  ladies,  one  on  each  arm,  through 


434  THE    PLAY   OF    FATE 

the  throng.  The  young  men  exchanged  glances. 
George  seemed  embarrassed,  but  collecting  himself 
almost  immediately,  he  addressed  Maurits  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Ah,  Maurits,  allow  me  to  present  you  to — 
'Some  other  time,"    interrupted    Maurits    curtly,  "I 
must  to  the  Crown  Prince  now,"  and    hastened  along. 

The  chamberlain  opened  the  door  to  the  royal  box 
and  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  bade  Maurits  enter. 

"Your  royal  highness,  I  bring  with  me  the  young 
author,"  announced  the  chamberlain,  whereupon  Mau- 
rits bowed  low  to  the  royal  pair. 

"I  am  pleased  to  make  your  acquaintance,"  said  the 
prince  graciously.  "Your  excellent  play  has  afforded 
us  a  great  ethical  treat.  Your  talent  surprises  me  all 
the  more,  finding  you  so  young.  How  old  are  you?  ' 

"Twenty-three,  your  highness." 

"And  you  have  studied?" 

"At  Upsala." 

"What  course?" 

"The  philosophical.  I  took  the  degree  of  A.  M. 
last  year. " 

"You  are  poor?" 

i:Yes,  your  highness.  I  have  had  to  battle  my  way 
through  many  difficulties.  My  childhood  was  passed 
in  a  peasant  hut,  and  your  highness  may  know,  then, 
that  I  was  not  rocked  in  the  cradle  of  luxury,  as  it  is 
termed." 

"So  much  more  creditable  to  you,"  said  the  Crown 
Princess  in  her  mild  and  pleasing  manner.  "So  much 
more  creditable  to  have  lifted  yourself  from  such  a 
humble  station." 

Hereupon  her  highness  extended  her  hand  for  .Mag- 
rits  to  kiss. 


THF    PI.AY  435 

With  almost  religious  veneration,  cultivated  from 
his  childhood,  for  the  royal  lady's  virtues  and  worthy 
characteristics,  Maurits  conveyed  the  hand  of  the  prin- 
cess to  his  lips. 

"Sir,"  resumed  his  highness,  "it  is  the  duty  of  a 
prince  to  encourage  genuis.  I  am  anxious  to  assist 
you  in  some  manner,  for  you  merit  it.  What  can  I 
do  for  you?" 

"The  success  I  have  achieved  this  evening,  your 
highness,"  answered  Maurits  bowing,  "has  certainly 
placed  me  beyond  immediate  want.  I  have  no  other 
desire  therefore,  than  that  I  may  enjoy  the  good  graces 
and  favor  of  your  highness." 

"A  remarkable  unselfishness,"  said  the  Crown  Prince, 
contemplating  the  young  man  searchingly.  "Never- 
theless, you  have  my  permission  to  come  to  me  should 
you  ever  require  aid  ;  and  now,  farewell. " 

Maurits  bowed  again,  stammered  his  thanks,  and 
made  way  for  the  prince  and  his  consort  to  retire  from 
the  box. 

Upon  reaching  the  vestibule  of  the  opera  house 
Maurits  was  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  acquaintances 
who  had  assembled  for  the  purpose  of  congratulating 
him.  They  were,  for  the  most  part,  his  former  Upsala 
fellow  students  who,  after  their  graduation,  had  taken 
up  their  residences  in  the  capital.  Among  them,  to 
his  great  joy,  he  perceived  Albert  Broman,  who  had 
lately  taken  the  law  degree,  and  was  now  established 
in  the  city  and  was  rapidly  becoming  a  man  of  influ- 
ence, also  Edward  Holm,  now  assistant  physician  in 
the  garrison  hospital,  and  many  others.  Not  a  few 
young  men  who  had  no  personal  acquaintance  with 
Maurits,  had  joined  the  gathering,  seeking  an  intro- 
duction if  possible. 


43^  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

The  happy  Albert  now  raised  his  voice. 

"Gentlemen  acquaintances  and  strangers,  it  is  rec- 
ognized by  all  that  our  young  friend  and  author,  Mau- 
rits  Sterner,  has  afforded  us  an  unusually  agreeable 
evening's  entertainment  in  his  interesting  play.  Let 
us,  therefore,  my  friends,  show  our  appreciation  in  a 
lunch  and  a  bowl  after  the  good  old  Upsala  style. 
What  do  you  say?" 

"Well  said!"   responded  all  in  chorus. 

"To  the  Riding  Master's  then!"  commanded  Albert. 

"Lead  on!  To  the  Riding  Master's!  But  we  must 
have  a  song  by  the  way,"  cried  Maurits.  ''One  of  the 
old  Upsala  marches." 

"Singers  to  the  front,  and  take  the  author  with 
you!"  shouted  Albert.  "King  Charles'  march." 

"Yes,  tune  up  for  King  Charles.  That  will  do  ad- 
mirably." 

And  King  Charles'  march  rose  on  the  air  as  the 
lively  company,  escorting  the  hero  of  the  hour,rnarched 
through  the  streets  still  crowded  with  promenaders 
who  halted,  and  with  pleasure  listened  to  the  familiar 
notes. 


CHAPTER  XI 

FATHER  AND    SON 

That  Maurits  was  happy  this  evening  goes  without 
saying.  The  reader  who  has  followed  his  career  at- 
tentively will  readily  admit  that  he  had  full  warrant 
for  rejoicing.  Not  alone  over  the  empty  and  vain 
honors  the  world,  materialistic  as  it  is,  does  not  dare 
deny  to  genius  and  talent,  but  beyond  this  a  some- 
thing that  in  Maurits'  estimation  was  much  more 
gratifying  than  all  the  distinctions  showered  upon 
him. 

While  Maurits  and  his  companions  gave  themselves 
up  to  rejoicing — while  they  sang,  drank  and  held  high 
carnival  in  the  place  of  refreshment  to  which  the  young 
men  had  betaken  themselves — a  scene  of  a  very  differ- 
ent character  was  progressing  in  one  of  the  princely 
mansions  in  Queen  Street,  just  now  owned  by  Baron 
Ehrenstam  and  occupied  as  a  dwelling  place  by  him 
and  his  family. 

George  had  been  compelled,  of  necessity,  to  escort 
his  mother  and  sister  home,  for  the  baron,  during  the 
last  act  of  the  play,  had  suddenly  left  his  seat  and  set 
out  for  home,  pleading  a  slight  indisposition. 

In  front  of  the  opera  house,  the  baron  found  his 
carriage  into  which  he  threw  himself,  and  bade  the 
coachman  drive  him  home. 

"But  madame  and  the  young  lady,  sir,  how  are  they 
to  get  home?"  inquired  the  man. 

437 


438  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Drive  on!"  shouted  the  baron  fiercely.  "They  will 
come  in  my  son's  carriage." 

The  carriage  rolled  away,  and  George,  as  we  have 
said,  unwillingly,  because  it  prevented  his  hastening 
at  once  to  his  mistress'  home  where  he  was  to  join 
his  companions  in  a  supper,  was  left  to  become  his 
mother's  and  sister's  escort. 

The  baron  was  soon  at  the  door  of  his  residence 
where  he  leaped  from  his  carriage  and  hastened  to  his 
room.  For  a  long  time,  silent  and  gloomy,  he  paced 
back  and  forth  across  the  richly  carpeted  floor. 

"Confound  the  thing!"  he  suddenly  broke  forth; 
"who  is  the  author  of  that  accursed  play  upon  which 
the  stupid  public  so  showered  their  bravos  and  hand- 
clappings?  The  asses!  To  weep  over  the  fictitious  suf- 
ferings such  as  there  represented  while  they  are  all  ego- 
ists quite  as  much  as  I."  Here  the  baron  clenched  his 
hands  and  stamped  upon  the  floor  in  a  rage.  "To  see 
one's  self  depicted  in  this  manner,  lampooned  by  a 
sentimental  ink-slinger  who  has  in  some  manner  made 
himself  acquainted  with  my  life!  Curses  upon  him! 
The  amber  heart,  that  detestable  gewgaw  which  I 
hung  around  my  daughter's  neck;  the  trinket  once 
owned  by  my  first  wife  and  later  by  her,  the  pauper, 
mother  of  that  hungry  beggar  who  calls  himself  my  son 
— must  that  trinket  again  make  its  appearance  from  its 
watery  grave, where  it  was  left  some  eight  years  ago,  to 
haunt  me, to  resurrect  those  memories,  memories  which, 
however  childish  they  may  be,  leave  me  no  peace  of 
mind?  A  thousand  curses  upon  the  thing!  I  thought 
the  secret  known  to  no  other  than  him,  the  red-headed 
rascal  whom  I  sent  to  the  house  of  correction  for  his 
endeavor  to  kill  me — his  father  he  called  me  — with  a 
stone!  1  have  felt  that  no  one  would  place  reliance  in 


FATHER  AND  SON  439 

the  fellow's  story.  And  that  it  should  ever  be  told 
by  an  author's  pen,  who  could  have  imagined  it! 
Who  is  this  fellow?  I  must  know  this.  Time  will 
reveal  it  perhaps  Maybe  he  will  make  himself  known 
this  evening  when  he  sees  that  his  play  is  a  success. 
The  fools  will  doubtless  call  him  out  to  give  him 
further  enjoyment  of  his  triumph— to  overload  him 
with  applause  and  showers  of  bouquets,  the  puling, 
sentimental  idiots!  But  I  will  mix  wormwood  in  his 
cup  of  joy!" 

The  baron's  rage  during  this  monologue  had  risen 
to  a  frightful  pitch.  He  clenched  his  hands,  stamped 
the  floor,  and  raved  like  a  madman. 

"It  was  fortunate,"  continued  he,  when  his  fury  had 
somewhat  subsided,  "it  was  fortunate  that  I  left  the 
box  in  such  good  time,  for  the  fire  that  burned  within 
me  might  have  broken  out  and  further  compromised 
me.  What  will  be  the  consequences  of  this  plaguey 
thing,  I  wonder?  The  author,  who  seems  to  be  very 
familiar  with  my  life  history,  will  probably  put  my 
name  into  the  mouth  of  every  slanderer  and  calumni- 
ator in  the  land  to  taunt  me.  And  the  jealous  mass, 
the  plebeian  pack,  knowing  no  better  than  to  wish 
the  downfall  of  an  aristocrat,  will  have  their  full  of 
rejoicing.  In  this  manner,  interest  will  be  given  the 
play, when  it  will  doubtless  draw  for  several  weeks  yet, 
during  which  the  story  will  probably  get  to  the  ears 
of  my  wife,  my  children,  my  friends.  What  the)' 
looked  upon  as  the  pratings  of  a  strolling  beggar,  who 
proclaimed  himself  my  son,  will  now  be  given  a  color- 
ing of  truth,  a  certain  interest,  at  least,  presented  in 
eloquent  and  touching  language  by  some  vagabond 
author.  The  devil  take  him!  I  must  leave  Stockholm. 
I  cannot  remain  here  while  this  accursed  play  is  on 
the  boards." 


44°  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

At  this  point  a  carriage  drew  up  at  the  door.  The 
baron  grasped  a  bell  cord  and  rang  violently.  After 
a  few  minutes,  during  which  the  baron's  patience  was 
almost  exhausted,  a  servant  entered,  ,alarmed  and 
trembling  at  sight  of  the  thunder  clouds  upon  his  mas- 
ter's brow  ready  to  burst  over  his  head. 

"Why  do  you  not  come  when  I  ring  for  you,  ras- 
cal!" roared  the  baron,  rushing  with  clenched  fists 
upon  the  frightened  servant.  The  latter  stammered 
out  some  excuse. 

"Go  down  to  my  son,  direct  him  to  come  up  here  at 
once.  I  wish  to  speak  with  him,"  said  the  baron. 

The  servant  left  the  room  to  execute  the  command, 
glad  at  having  escaped  bodily  injury. 

In  a  few  minutes,  George,  wholly  out  of  patience  at 
having  been  again  detained  from  his  mistress,  entered 
the  room  unannounced,  his  hat  on  and    a  cigar  in  his 
mouth,  and  throwing  himself    carelessly  into    an  easy 
chair  addressed  his  father: 

"Well,  what  do  you  want,  father?  Be  quick,  for  I 
am  in  a  hurry." 

The  baron  was  accustomed  to  his  son's  ill  manners, 
having  been  for  a  long  time  more  his  companion  than 
his  parent,  but  this  was  an  occasion  when  he  was  in 
no  disposition  to  be  trifled  with,  and  when  he  re- 
quired, also,  someone  upon  whom  he  could  vent  the 
fury  that  boiled  within  him. 

"Off  with  your  hat  and  out  with  your  cigar,  scamp!" 
he  roared;  "remember  you  are  in  my  room!  " 

"Ah,  Man  Cher!"  said  George  indifferently,  "what 
in  Sancho  is  amiss  this  evening?  You  are  out  of  spir- 
its, it  seems." 

"Silence!"  shouted  the  baron,  rushing  toward  his 
son  with  uplifted  hand;  "silence,  or  I'll  knock  you 
down!" 


FATHER  AND   SON  44! 

Rising  from  his  seat,  George  coolly  retcrted :  "You 
act  like  the  baron  in  the  play  this  evening.  You  were 
charmed  with  the  character,  I  fancy,  and  are  trying 
to  represent  it  here  in  your  room.  You  play  with  al- 
togeth^r  too  much  spirit,  however.  I'll  not  be  your 
scapegoat;  an  revoir,  therefore."  Hereupon  he  turned 
to  leave. 

"Remain,  George,  I  wish  to  speak  with  you,"  said 
the  baron,  a  shudder  of  horror  passing  through  his 
frame. 

" Parblcu.'  I  thought  you  were  of  a  mind  to  thrash 
me," 

"No,  no,  take  a  seat  and  be  quiet.  I  was  irritated 
when  you  came  in,  and  your  conduct  was  so  cavalier- 
like  that  it  exasperated  me." 

"Ah,  bah!  What  childishness!  Until  this,  you  have 
always  conducted  yourself  after  the  most  hospitable 
fashion,  and  ever  since  you  introduced  me  to  the  cir- 
cle of  your  acquaintances  — you  remember  the  evening 
when  you  sent  me  the  beautiful  Celestine?  —  I  have 
looked  upon  you  as  one  of  the  most  affectionate  fathers, 
and  now  you  roar  like  a  mad  tiger.  Fie  upon  you! 
Are  you  a  man  of  the  world?" 

"Enough,  enough,  George!"  cried  the  baron,  pale 
with  rage  and  shame;  "let  us  not  speak  of  that.  I 
have  something  else  which  I  would  discuss  with  you." 

"Say  it  quickly,  then,  for  my  time  is  precious.  I  am 
to  sup  with  Helena,  and  have  invited  a  number  of 
my  friends  to  join  us.  What  do  you  wish?" 

"George,  do  you  know  who  wrote  the  play  of  this 
evening?" 

"Certainly.  The  whole  world,  except  you  who  left 
the  theater  before  the  end,  knows  it." 

"What  is  his  name?" 


442  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"He  is  one  of  my  old  Upsala  acquaintances,  a  young 
and  romantic  A.  M.,  by  name  Sterner." 

"Sterner!  "  ejaculated  the  baron;  "where  have  I  heard 
that  name  before?" 

"I  don't  know,  for  I  have  no  recollection  that  I  ever 
mentioned  his  name  to  you.  But  why  are  you  so  in- 
terested in  the  matter?  Great  guns!  May  be  you 
were  hit  by  the  play? " 

"Bah!"  said  the  baron  shrugging  his  shoulders; 
1  prattle!  Why  should  a  dramatic  production  concern 
me,  me  particularly,  understand?  There  were,  how 
ever,  some  scenes  in  that  play  that  brought  vividly 
back  to  my  mind  an  accident  witnessed  by  me  when  I 
was  a  boy-  It  was  an  affair  in  which  I  was  not  a  par- 
ticipant, yet  it  made  a  deep  impression  upon  me. 
The  author's  name  is  Sterner,  you  say?" 

"Yes." 

"And  do  you  know  his  given  name?" 

"Yes,  it  is  Maurits." 

"Maurits  Sterner!"  muttered  the  baron.  "I  have 
heard  that  name  before,  I  am  convinced.  But  when 
and  where?  If  it  should  be — But  no,  it  is  impossible 
— he  was  but  a  poor  peasant.  How  old  is  this  fellow 
Sterner? " 

"Twenty-three,  I  believe." 

"And  you  made  his  acquaintance  at  Upsala?  In 
what  manner?" 

"I  had  received  a  letter  to  him  from  the  pastor  at 
home.  You  remember  that  droll  being?" 

"Pastor  Bergholm!"  exclaimed   the  baron. 

"Exactly." 

"And  how   was    he  concerned    with    this    Sterner?" 

"He  had  been  his  teacher  while  the  latter  was  a  boy, 
living  with  his  mother  in  a  hut  at  Odensvik. " 


FATHER   AND   SON 


443 


"It  is  he,"  muttered  the  baron,  "there  can  be  no 
doubt  about  it." 

"What  are  you  saying,  father?" 

"Nothing.      How  does  he  look?" 

"He  bears  a  striking  resemblance  to  my  prospective 
brother-in-law,  Count  Stjernekrantz,  except  that 
Sterner's  face  shows  no  marks  of  dissipation.  It  would 
not  surprise  me  to  learn  that  he  is  the  count's  brother 
in  a  side  line,  especially  as  I  have  never  been  able 
to  get  any  account  from  him  of  his  father.  He  holds 
his  mother  in  almost  religious  veneration,  however." 

"Enough,  George,  you  may  go.  I  will  not  detain 
you  longer.  Good  night!" 

George  bowed  aftd  withdrew. 

The  baron  was  again  alone. 

"Maurits  Sterner,"  said  he  to  himself,  "yes,  that 
was  his  name.  I  remember  it  now.  The  'young  boy 
who  rescued  Isabella  from  the  water  upon  the  occasion 
of  her  losing  that  accursed  neck  ornament  which  seems 
to  have  given  title  to  this  play.  Maurits  Sterner! 
The  same  boy  that,  one  evening  a  few  years  before, 
in  the  forest,  near  the  burial  place  of  my  murdered 
son,  jumped  upon  my  carriage;  the  same  who,  a  few 
days  later,  came  to  Liljedahl  with  some  tea-cups  for 
sale.  I  recollect  now  that  he  spoke  of  these  things 
when  he  brought  Isabella  from  the  water,  upon  my 
offering  him  some  money  which  he  scornfully  refused. 
He  has  now  chosen  to  revenge  himself  for  the  wrongs 
he  fancies  he  has  suffered,  But  how  the  devil  did 
he  obtain  such  a  knowledge  of  my  life!" 

"I  hate  that  boy,  but  I  must  admire  him,  neverthe- 
less. It  is  cunningly  conceived,  an  exquisite  and  a 
incomparable  revenge." 

The  baron,  in  no  condition    to  attribute  to    Maurits 


444  TttE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

any  nobler  motives,  believed  beyond  question  that  the 
young  author  was  actuated  solely  by  a  desire  for  per- 
sonal revenge. 

"But,"  continued  he,  "what  course  shall  I  pursue  to 
keep  my  name  from  being  associated  with  the  affair? 
.If  I  should  invite  him  to  my  presence,  and  seek  to 
win  his  friendship?  But  no,  that  were  to  humble 
myself  altogether  too  much.  Yet  I  am  most  anxious 
to  learn  where  he  got  his  knowledge  of  that  damnable 
story. " 

The  baron's  monologue  was  interrupted  by  the  tones 
of  a  piano  from  a  room  adjoining  the  one  occupied  by 
him,  and  being  in  no  mood  to  listen  to  music,  he  vio- 
lently threw  open  the  door  leading  "thereto. 

"Isabella!"  shouted  he  gruffly,   "is  that  you?" 

The  music  ceased  instantly. 

"Yes,  father,"  answered  a  timorous  voice. 

"Why  do  you  sit  and  pound  on  that  instrument  at 
this  hour  of  the  night!  You  know  that  I  dislike  it 
very  much. " 

"I  thought  you  had  already  gone    to  bed,  father." 

"Go  to  your  room,  and  leave  me  in  peace.' 

With  a  half  smothered  sigh,  the  young  girl  rose 
from  the  instrument,  put  down  the  cover  and  withdrew 
with  noiseless  footsteps. 

It  was  long  past  midnight  when  the  baron  finally 
retired  to  his  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  Like  an  eel  on 
a  gridiron,  he  writhed  upon  his  downy  pillow  through 
the  many  hours  until  morning. 

When  George  took  leave  of  his  father,  he  hastened 
back  to  the  theater, where  he  found  Helena  still  in  her 
dressing-room,  just  recovering  from  the  swoon  into 
which  she  fell,  the  reader  will  recollect,  as  the  curtain 


FATHER   AND    SON  445 

dropped.  She  was  now  feeling  somewhat  better,  but 
was  still  pale  and  very  weak.  Assisted  by  her  maid, 
she  had  laid  off  her  stage  costume,  and  had  donned 
her  usual  attire.  Upon  the  arrival  of  George,  she  rose 
with  difficulty  and  extended  her  hand. 

'What  is  the  matter,  Helena?"  exclaimed  he  in  a 
disturbed  manner.  "Are  you  not  well?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  am  better  now." 

"Better!      Have  you  been  ill?" 

"Yes,  I  felt  a  little  indisposed." 

"A  little  indisposed!"  exclaimed  the  maid;  "Mad- 
emoiselle fainted  dead  away." 

'What  do  you  say?"  cried   George. 

"It  is  nothing.  Come  now,"  said  Helena,  taking 
the  young  man's  arm.  "Is  your  carriage  here, 
George?" 

"Yes,  it  is  waiting." 

"Let  us  go,  then." 

The  young  woman  wrapped  a  cloak  around  her 
shoulders  and,  accompanied  by  George,  left  the  dress- 
ing-room. 

"Well,"  said  George,  when  they  were  seated  in  the 
carriage,  "you  are  doubtless  well  pleased  with  the 
evening?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"But  in  what  tones  you  say  it.  Have  you  not 
achieved  an  extraordinary  success?  Have  you  not,  so 
to  speak,  been  almost  buried  in  flowers?  Have  you 
not  enjoyed  a  triumph  worthy  a  Catalani  and  Mali- 
bran,  or  how?" 

"Yes,  I  have  had  rare  good  fortune." 

"But  you  are  not  satisfied  and  happy.  What  is 
wrong?" 

Helena  did  not  answer.  Weeping,  she  hid  her  face 
upon  George's  breast. 


446  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Well,  well,  why  this  childishness!"  said  George 
impatiently.  "Are  you  ill,  or  what  is  it  that  distresses 
you?" 

"O  George,  I  have  seen  him  again." 

"Him!      What    him?" 

"Maurits  Sterner." 

"Well,  what  of  it?  What  has  he  to  do  with  your 
condition? ' 

"Ah,  George,  he  looked  at  me  with  a  glance  so  re- 
proving, but  at  the  same  time  so  gentle,  that  it  pierced 
me  to  the  very  soul.  That  glance  has  aroused  the 
spirit  of  repentance  that  has  been  so  long  slumbering 
within  me." 

"Bosh!  You  silly  girl!"  said  George,  in  ill  humor; 
"what  cause  have  you  for  repentance?  You  have  fol- 
lowed .the  dictates  of  your  heart,  and  have  loved  me, 
nothing  more.  No  one  will  dare  censure  you  for  that." 

"George,  my  own  conscience  accuses  me.  Now, 
when  it  is  too  late,  the  sense  of  my  shame  is  forced 
upon  me.  This  feeling  has  slumbered,  but  it  was 
awakened  by  his  presence,  that  magnanimous,  that 
noble  man,  who  so  earnestly  wished  me  well,  and 
whom  I  so  cruelly  deceived." 

"Hush,  Helena!  I  will  not  listen  to  such  talk!  Keep 
in  mind  that  you  must  be  gay  and  happy  this  evening. 
Drive  away  your  foolish  melancholy,  jest  again,  and 
be  your  old  self  once  more." 

"O,  George!  I  love  you,  but  you  have  brought  mis- 
fortune, deep  misfortune,  upon  me.  I  realize  it  now." 

"What  are  you  prating  about?"  said  George  angrily. 
"It  would  have  been  better,  maybe,  had  I  left  you  to 
continue  your  perambulations  as  a  beggar  through  the 
streets  of  Stockholm." 

"O!   George,    do  not  be  so    cruel.    Forgive   me,  if  I 


FATHER   AND    SON  447 

have  pained  you.  I  will  do  so  no  more.  But  I  was 
thinking,  what  will  become  of  me  if  you  should  tire 
of  and  desert  me,  George." 

"I  will  not  desert  you.  Moreover,  you  have  opened 
a  brilliant  future  for  yourself,  and  the  directors  of  the 
theater  will  pay  you  a  salary  of  many  thousands  of 
dollars.  You  can  also  visit  foreign  lands,  if  you  will, 
where  rich  harvests  of  honor  and  gold  are  to  be  reaped. 
Yet  more,  I  swear  to  you,  that  while  I  live  you  shall 
want  for  nothing  whatever  happens.  Now  then,  be 
calm,  my  little  Helena,  and  remember  that  you  are  to 
play  hostess  this  evening  to  a  large  gathering  of  my 
friends  and  your  admirers." 

Sjmewhat  appeased  by  these  words,  Helena  re- 
sumed: "What  has  been  done  cannot  now  be  undone. 
But  it  was  a  strange  fate  that  brought  me  in  such 
a  manner  together  with  my  former  teacher.  That  I 
should  make  my  debut  in  a  piay  written  by  him  is 
very  extraordinary." 

The  carriage  at  this  instant  drew  up  before  the 
home  in  which  the  young  actress  dwelt.  A  number 
of  young  gentlemen  had  gathered  in  front  of  it,  await 
ing  the  arrival  of  George  and  Helena.  They  were 
instantly  surrounded,  and  a  cheer  for  "the  young 
queen,  of  the  stage  was  proposed,  to  which  they  all 
responded  with  a  three  times  three  hurrah. 

At  these  sounds,  Helena's  eyes  brightened  again. 
Sorrow  and  repentance  were  banished,  and  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  herself  glorified  by  the  lions  of  the  capital 
dispelled,  in  an  instant,  all  other  feelings. 

Supported  by  George's  arm,  she  sprang  lightly  from 
the  carriage,  and  greeted  the  young  cavaliers  with  a 
pleasant  smile. 

"Here  we    are    at  last,    gentlemen.      1  was  detained 


448  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

very  unexpectedly  and  much  against  my  will.  I  am 
sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting.  Come  in." 

Helena  led  the  way,  and  George  followed  with  the 
guests. 

Entering  the  briliantly  lighted  salon,  a  banquet  that 
would  have  done  justice  to  a  Lucullus  was  spread  be- 
fore them  upon  the  table,  groaning  under  its  burden 
of  heaping  silver  dishes  and  bottles  of  champagne. 

"Welcome,  gentlemen,"  said  Helena  to  her  guests. 
"Be  patient  a  few  minutes,  I'll  return  soon,"  where- 
upon she  disappeared  into  an  inner  room. 

"Where  did  she  go?"  said  Baron  G — ,  the  same  to 
whom  we  have  had  the  honor,  once  before,  of  present- 
ing the  reader. 

"O,  she'll  return  soon,"  said  George,  "some  atten- 
tion to  her  toilet  took  her  away,  perhaps.  Be  seated, 
meanwhile. " 

'This  evening  has  given  us  two  new  notabilities  in 
the  world  of  art,  an  author  and  an  actress,"  observed 
Count  Alfred  H — ,  the  second  of  the  two  cavaliers 
whose  acquaintance  we  made  on  Norrbro. 

"And  both  have  done  their  parts  nobly,"  said  George. 
"What  do  you  say,  friends?" 

"Your  ward  does  you  honor,  George,"  said  Alfred. 
"But  for  you  our  country  never  would  have  known  one 
of  its  most  gifted  artists." 

We  will  leave  the  young  gentlemen,  who  number 
ten  or  twelve  persons,  to  continue  their  conversation, 
while  we  accompany  Helena  to  her  toilet  room.  Upon 
entering,  the  young  girl  paused  before  a  mirror  to 
survey  herself. 

"Ugh!  I  have  not  yet  wiped  off  that  abominable 
rouge,"  said  she.  "I  look  like  a  portrait."  Where- 
upon she  dipped  a  handkerchief  in  water,  and  wiped 


FATHER   AND    SON  4.4.9 

away  the    pigment     noticing   as   she    did  so    that  her 
cheeks  were  deadly  pale. 

"Good  gracious,  how  pale  I  am!  And  my  eyes  are 
red  and  swollen  with  weeping.  I  have  wept,  yes.  It 
is  the  first  time  it  has  occurred  in  a  long  while  and 
that  it  should  happen  to-day  of  all  days.  That  look, 
I  shall  never  forget.  But  hush!  I  must  not  think  of 
it.  I  must  be  cheerful  and  gay,  said  George.  Cheer- 
ful and  gay,  great  heavens!  Have  I  cause  for  being 
otherwise!"  continued  she,  surveying  her  beautiful 
surroundings.  "Everything  is  exquisite  here;  every- 
thing shines  with  gold,  silk  and  crystal;  pleasure 
beckons  me,  mankind  lights  burnt  offerings  for  me; 
whence  comes  this  strange,  unusual  disquiet  that 
presses  so  heavily  upon  my  breast?  Why  do  I  feel 
so?  It  is  as  if  I  were  on  the  brink  of  a  volcano's 
crater,  gaping  ready  to  swallow  me.  I  have  never 
felt  so  before.  And  now,  now,  upon  the  very  dawn 
of  my  triumph,  my  victory,  that  these  thoughts  should 
awake  within  me.  Away  with  them!  It  is  childish. 
My  dear  eyes,  you  must  not  betray  me,  you  must  be 
aglow  with  life;  must  emit  flashes  of  fire,  sparkle  with 
gladness;  trouble  and  sorrow  must  not  be  allowed  to 
peep  out  through  your  mirrors.  I  must  wipe  out  their 
traces. " 

Helena  again  dipped  the  handkerchief  into  cold 
water  and  bathed  her  eyes,  an  operation  that  soon 
restored  them  to  their  natural  condition. 

"Maurits  would  not  speak  to  me.  He  went  his  way 
without  so  much  as  asking  after  me.  He  despised 
me,"  continued  Helena  in  thought,  "and  I  would  give 
ten  years  of  my  life  if  I  could  regain  his  esteem. 
How  noble,  how  grand,  he  is.  O,  my  God!  There  I 
discover  something  else  than — 


450  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"But  hush,  Helena,  your  guests  await  you.  Even 
here  the  sound  of  their  gay  laughing  may  be  heard. 
I  come,  I  come." 

With  an  almost  spasmodic  violence,  Helena  grasped 
the  bell-cord. 

The  waiting-maid  entered. 

"Be  quick,  Caroline.  Dress  me  immediately.  The 
white  silk  dress  with  points,  jewels  in  my  hair,  black 
satin  slippers  and  Lyonaise  long  shawl." 

'Done  in  a  twinkling,  ma'mselle. " 

Ten  minutes  later,  Helena  entered  the  salon  in  the 
full  splendor  of  her  ravishing  beauty,  now  augmented 
greatly  by  her  costly  and  elegant  toilet.  Her  usual 
smile  played  upon  her  lips,  and  in  the  most  charming 
manner  she  directed  her  guests  to  seats  as  they  were 
presented  to  her  by  George. 

Soon  all  were  seated  and  the  champagne  began  to 
flow,  sallies  of  wit  went  the  rounds,  and  the  walls 
echoed  with  shouts  of  merriment. 

During  the  many  hours,  far  into  the  night,  while 
George  and  his  companions  were  enjoying  themselves 
to  the  utmost,  while  Helena  with  music  and  the  be- 
witching melody  of  the  voice  in  song  enlivened  the 
feast,  a  lonesome  wanderer,  hungry  and  chilled  to  the 
marrow  by  the  night  frosts,  paced  back  and  forth  in 
front  of  the  house  in  which  the  beautiful  actress 
dwelt.  Back  and  forth  the  whole  night  paced  this 
weary  being,  now  and  then  glancing  up  at  the  win- 
dows of  the  brilliantly  lighted  rooms.  It  was  two 
o'clock  when  the  banqueters  finally  came  reeling  down 
the  stairs, weak  in  the  knees  from  the  great  quantities 
of  champagne  drunk,  not  a  few  of  them  barely  able  to 
keep  their  feet  when  they  reached  the  street.  The 


FATHER   AND    SON  45! 

lonely  man  drew  aside  and    listened    to  the  conversa- 
tion that  was  continued  in  high  tones. 

"A  splendid  evening,  matchless  wine!"  said  one 
voice.  "What  a  shame  that  I  can't  be  in  our  host's 
place." 

"Why  so?"  questioned  another. 

"Because  I  could  then  have  remained  with  the  host- 
ess, little  charmer." 

The  listener  heard  no  more,  for  the  voices  were  now 
beyond  earshot,  but  he  had  heard  enough.  With  a 
look  of  hate,  of  desperation,  he  lifted  his  clenched 
fist  toward  the  spangled  heavens,  and  swore  a  terrible 
oath,  an  oath  heard  only  by  the  powers  of  night. 
Hereupon  he  departed  slowly  into  the  dark  alley. 

This  lonely  man  was  Jacob  Kron. 


CHAPTER  XII 

OLD  ACQUAINTANCES 

We  will  now  leave  Stockholm:  leave  Helena  to 
enjoy  her  triumph,  and  fight  her  battle  of  life.  We 
shall  see  her  again  by  and  by,  after  many  and  various 
experiences,  and  under  wholly  different  circumstances. 
We  are  now  taken  by  our  narrative  to  a  change  of 
scene  and  actors. 

We  will  visit  the  unpretentious  dwelling  of  Pastor 
Bergholm,  one  beautiful  afternoon  near  the  end  of 
May,  a  year  later  than  the  incidents  of  our  last  chap- 
ter. The  worthy  preserver  of  souls  has  changed 
little  since  we  last  saw  him,  except  that  added  years 
have  somewhat  bent  his  figure,  and  sprinkled  more 
silver  in  his  locks.  His  heart  is  the  same;  a  noble 
heart  that  under  a  rough  exterior  beats  only  for  the 
lofty,  the  holy  and  the  beautiful  in  life.  The  same 
good-natured  expression  plays  on  his  lips,  and  the 
high  forehead  tells  of  deep  study  and  cares.  And  his 
wife  Brita,  what  shall  we  say  of  her?  The  reader  will 
recognize  the  same  homely,  thick-set  figure;  the  same 
bustling  little  body,  impetuous  and  chafing  as  of  old; 
the  same  love  for  her  husband  and  children,  and  full 
of  the  same  curtain  lectures. 

Oscar  is  not  at  home.  He  has  opened  a  store  on 
his  own  account  in  Gothenburg,  and  is  exceeding  his 
most  sanguine  expectations  as  a  merchant.  Every 
Christmas  and  every  mid-summer  he  visits  his  parents, 

453 


OLD   ACQUAINTANCES  453 

for  whom  he  entertains  the  most  tender  love,  always 
bringing  with  him  a  number  of  beautiful  presents  for 
his  sisters. 

Of  the  four  sisters,  Marie,  Louise,  Lotta  and  Ulla, 
we  find  only  three.  They  are  sitting,  as  is  their  wont, 
by  the  window  plying  their  needles.  It  is  the  oldest, 
Marie,  who  is  missing  from  the  circle.  But  where  is 
she?  We  are  informed,  upon  inquiry,  that  the  pretty 
and  lively  Marie,  the  joy  of  her  parents,  is  the  wife 
of  an  honorable  and  noble  man — one  with  whom  we 
have  been  made  acquainted  in  the  earlier  chapters  of 
our  narrative — none  other  than  Magister  Holmer  who, 
having  served  his  time  as  teacher  in  the  family  of 
Baron  Ehrenstam,  has  become  a  tiller  of  the  soil  upon 
a  beautiful  little  plat  of  land  of  which  the  baron,  faith- 
ful to  his  promise,  has  made  him  possessor  for  the  rest 
of  his  life. 

Madame  \Vasholm,  the  literary  woman,  who  has 
surely  not  been  forgotten  by  the  reader,  with  her  hus- 
band, the  beer-loving  priest,  is  on  a  visit  to  the  par- 
ish. We  find  Madame  Washolm  sitting  on  the  humble 
sofa  entertaining  her  hostess  to  the  best  of  her  ability, 
meanwhile  refreshing  herself  with  some  rusks  and 
a  cup  of  coffee,  which  she  holds  in  her  hand. 

The  old  men  have  established  themselves  comforta- 
bly in  a  corner,  and  are  whiling  away  the  time  with 
a  game  of  checkers,  the  only  game  about  which  the 
good  pastor  knows  anything.  A  foaming  tankard  of 
fresh  ale  has  been  brought  in,  and  is  standing  on  the 
small  table  near  by,  for  the  pastor,  knowing  the  priest's 
weakness,  never  fails,  when  honored  by  a  visit  from 
him,  to  have  prepared  for  him  some  of  his  much-loved 
beverage. 

"Ah,  my  brother!"  observed  the  priest,  after  a  deep 


454  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

draught  from  the  tankard,  "you  cannot  escape  a 
slaughter.  It  is  your  own  fault,  however,  you  should 
not  have  made  that  last  move.  There  you  are.  It  is 
done. " 

" Mirabile  dictu!"  exclaimed  the  pastor;  "you  are  a 
master  at  the  game,  brother.  That  I,  who  was  doing 
so  nicely  at  the  outset,  should  be  so  routed!  Sed  ra- 
ria  tst  fortuna. " 

'Quite  true,  quite  true,"  responded  the  priest,  who 
did  not  understand  a  word  of  Latin,  the  little  he  ever 
knew  having  been  forgotten  long  ago.  "But  my 
brother  will  have  revenge,  perhaps?" 

"Certainly,"  answered  the  pastor, arranging  the  men 
" Htec    contiunclia    tne    non   fregif,    sed  erexit,  as    Nepos 
says.      We  will  try  again." 

Again   the  parson  was  worsted. 

"You  are  having  extraordinary  good  luck,  while 
mine  is  unusually  poor,"  said  the  pastor,  not  a  little 
vexed,  and  rising  from  his  seat.  "I  knew  that  before," 
muttered  he  to  himself;  "fills  quorum  meruere  labores!" 

Pastor  Bergholm  had  noticed  all  through  the  visit 
of  the  priest  that  his  guest  appeared  to  have  some 
burden  on  his  mind  from  which  he  was  anxious  to  re- 
lieve himself.  Several  times  he  twirled  his  calote  and 
opened  his  mouth  as  if  about  to  say  something,  but 
checked  himself  as  though  the  subject  were  of  a  very 
delicate  and  distressing  nature.  Mustering  courage 
at  length,  he  said: 

"Your  son-in-law,  a  very  worthy  and  estimable  man, 
by  the  way, — hum! —  Has  my  brother  heard  what  he 
is  doing  at  his  little  place?" 

"Heard  what  he  is  doing!  Nothing  but  good,  I 
hope,"  said  the  pastor. 

"Certainly,  certainly,  there  is  nothing  really  bad  in 


OLD  ACQUAINTANCES  455 

his  doings,  though  I  cannot  approve  them  altogether. 
He  has  opened  a  school  for  the  peasant  children  of  the 
parish,  and  is  teaching  them  history,  geography  and 
mathematics,  I  believe.  He  is  doing  it  with  the  best 
of  motives,  I  do  not  question,  but  may  he  not  be 
c  Miimitting  a  great  error  in  taking  these  children  from 
their  work  to  teach  them  stuff  from  which  they  can 
dsrive  not  the  slightest  benefit?  Do  you  not  think, 
my  dear  brother,  that  we  had  better  put  a  stop  to 
this?" 

The  pastor  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  can  really  see  no  harm  in  Holmer's  humane  en- 
deavor, which  was  entered  upofi  with  my  full  concur- 
rence," said  the  pastor.  "You  know,  brother,  that  1 
was  a  party  to  the  undertaking." 

"Hem!  It  seems  to  me  quite  unnecessary,  never- 
theless, that  the  peasantry  should  be  taught  anything 
beyond  the  actual  requirements  of  their  station.  This 
half  education  begets  pride  and  covetousness.  Petti- 
foggers and  such  rascals,  the  chief  cause  of  so  much 
wrangling  in  the  parish,  could  not  exist  if  the  peas- 
ants were  left  alone  to  study  only  their  catechisms. 
I  would  very  unwillingly  employ  a  man  who  would 
spend  his  time  with  mathematical  problems  instead  of 
watching  my  flocks,  and  it  is  quite  enough  for  a  serv- 
ant girl  to  know  how  to  scrub  and  cook  well.  What 
does  it  concern  them  whether  Charles  the  XII  was 
king  of  Sweden  or  sultan  of  Turkey?" 

"Washolm  is  right!"  chimed  in  his  wife  in  a  tone 
of  superiority,  "we  must  put  a  stop  to  that  mischief, 
my  dear  pastor.  We  who  are  educated  should  not 
allow  the  low-born  mass  to  trespass  upon  the  spirit- 
ual realms,  for  there  is  danger  in  it  that  we  may  fall 
from  it  ourselves,  because  the  peasant,  in  such  an 


456  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

event,  would  regard  himself  our  equal.  You  ought  to 
think  of  that,  my  dear  pastor,  and  let  me  say  to  you, 
moreover,  that  nearly  all  the  gentry  are  of  the  same 
opinion  with  me  on  the  subject.  I  was  at  Liljedahl 
a  few  days  ago  where  I  found  that  both  the  baron  and 
baroness  are  very  much  displeased  with  Holmer's  un- 
dertaking. He  should  have  a  care  how  he  comes  into 
conflict  with  the  views  of  his  powerful  patron  on  whose 
charity  he  is  dependent." 

The  pastor  had  struggled  to  the  utmost  during  this 
conversation  to  smother  his  indignation.  That  he  was 
not  a  little  annoyed  was  manifest  in  the  dark,  swollen 
veins  on  his  forehead,  and  his  eyes,  at  other  times  so 
mild  and  gentle,  were  now  lighted  up  by  a  fire  very 
unusual  to  the  old  man.  He  concealed  his  feelings, 
however,  and  replied  calmly:  "Referring  to  your  last 
remark,  madame,  allow  me  to  correct  you.  My  son- 
in-law  is  in  no  manner  dependent  upon  Baron  Ehren- 
stam,  or  any  other  one.  He  asks  no  favors  from  any- 
one. The  little  farm  he  possesses  is  no  gratuity,  the 
continuance  of  which  is  wholly  with  the  baron,  but 
came  to  him  as  remuneration  for  many  years  of  faith- 
ful service,  and  was  deeded  to  him  formally.  Ergo, 
he  is  a  freeholder,  arrd  the  baron  has  no  business  med- 
dling with  his  affairs.  If  he  is  disposed  to  teach  the 
poor  children,  whom  he  loves  as  every  honorable  man 
loves  the  humble  and  less  favored  of  his  fellow  creat- 
ures, there  is  no  human  power  that  can  prevent  him. 
He  receives  no  compensation,  wherefore  it  is  not  self- 
interest  that  actuates  him.  His  sole  desire  is  to  spread 
light  and  blessings  around  him,  to  worthily  fulfill  his 
mission  as  a  citizen  and  a  Christian.  Every  intelligent 
and  truly  educated  person,  madame,  will  give  him 
merited  credit  therefor." 


OLD  ACQUAINTANCES  457 

The  pastor  emphasized  the  words  "truly  educated" 
s  )  strongly  that  the  learned  woman  took  it  for  a  per- 
sonal allusion,  whereat  her  thin  and  bony  cheeks  were 
flushed  with  anger.  There  was  nothing  that  so  wounded 
this  woman  as  to  question  her  superior  learning,  of 
which  she  was  always  prating,  and  every  one  who 
came  into  contact  with  her  was  at  once  made  aware  that 
concerning  her  own  accomplishments  she  entertained 
a  very  exalted  opinion.  She  had  the  utmost  faith  in 
the  infallibility  of  her  judgment,  and,  excepting  the 
Baroness  Ehrenstam,  there  was,  in  her  opjnion,  no 
one  in  the  community  who  was  her  intellectual  peer. 
Doubt  her  honor,  doubt  her  character,  these  were  of 
little  consequence — but  her  erudition,  that  were  to 
commit  an  unpardonable  offense. 

Speechless  with  anger  at  having  a  simple  country 
pastor  put  her  intelligence  to  question,  she  grew  red 
and  pale  by  turns;  the  tip  of  her  nose  was  aglow  with 
the  most  brilliant  crimson,  and  her  eyes  flashed  fire. 
She  endeavored  in  vain  to  find  an  expression  suffi- 
ciently keen  to  forever  annihilate  the  bold  parson. 

Seriously  apprehensive  as  to  the  storm  that  was  ready 
to  burst  upon  the  head  of  her  unfortunate  spouse,  Ma- 
dame Bergholm  could  discover  no  other  means  of  es- 
cape than  by  a  sacrifice  involving  the  overturning  of 
the  table  on  which  the  coffee  pot  and  a  number  of 
porcelain  cups  remained,  and  by  means  of  the  confu- 
sion thus  created,  draw  the  attention  of  the  literary 
amazon  in  another  direction.  The  plan  succeeded. 
At  the  clatter  made  by  the  falling  table,  Madame 
Washolm  turned  around,  forgetting,  at  sight  of  the 
delicious  cup  of  coffee  spilled  on  the  floor,  to  empty 
the  vials  of  her  wrath  upon  the  head  of  the  poor  pas- 
tor. Her  victim  was  rescued,  but  for  an  instant  only. 


458  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Goodness  me!  "What  have  I  done,  cried  Madame 
Bergholm  in  well  feigned  distress.  "Papa,  come  here 
and  help  me." 

The  pastor  hastened  to  the  assistance  of  his  wife, 
glad  to  escape  the  learned  dame's  tongue  lashing,  but 
hardly  was  the  table  on  its  legs  again  when  she  re- 
turned to  the  unpleasant  subject. 

"My  dear  pastor,  we  were  speaking  of  your  son-in- 
law's  proceedings,  and  you  declared  that  no  truly  ed- 
ucated person  would  condemn  his  course.  Did  you 
not,  or  did  I,  perhaps,  hear  you  incorrectly?" 

"Certainly, certainly,  madame,"  muttered  the  pastor, 
who  now  bitterly  regreted  his  hast}'  words,  "but  I 
will  add — " 

"You  will  add  that  I  am  not  numbered  among  the 
truly  educated,  since  I  oppose  his  project,"  interrupted 
the  irrepressible  woman;  "you  regard  yourself  an  un- 
commonly wise  man  because  you  have  been  basting 
your  brain  these  many  years  with  Greek  and  Latin,  but 
I  would  have  you  understand  that  modern  literature 
contains  the  germs  of  as  much  erudition  as  the  so- 
called  classics.  What  were  Virgil,  Cicero  and  Tacitus 
as  poets  compared  with  Byron,  Goethe  and  Tasso?" 

"Cicero  and  Tacitus  were  not  poets,"  observed  the 
pastor.  "The  first  was — " 

"I  don't  care  what  they  were,"  interrupted  the  wo- 
man, angered  beyond  measure  at  her  error  more  than 
at  the  pastor's  daring  to  correct  her.  "I  don't  care 
what  they  were,  but  you  must  confess  that  they  who 
lived  two  or  three  thousand  years  ago  cannot  be 
classed,  in  any  particular,  the  equals  of  the  three  per- 
sons named  by  me  who  belong  to  our  own  age." 

"Tasso,"  interposed  the  pastor,  with  the  same 
provoking  ingenuousness,  "does  not  belong  to  our 
age.  He  lived  several  hundred  years  ago." 


OLD   ACQUAINTANCES  459 

"That  is  a  fact  with  which  I  am  quite  as  well  ac- 
quainted as  you,  Herr  Pastor,"  continued  Madame 
Washolm  with  stinging  bitterness.  "I  am  quite  well 
aware  of  it. " 

"Oh,  no,  rnadame,"  broke  in  the  pastor,  "I  was  jest- 
ing. You  know  that  Tasso  is  still  living,  though  a 
very  old  man. " 

This  wholly  disconcerted  the  good  man's  antagonist. 
Truth  to  say,  she  had  never  read  a  line  of  Tasso,  and 
knew  only  regarding  him  that  he  was  a  great  poet. 
The  pastor  enjoyed  the  embarrassment,  therefore,  into 
which  his  bold  declaration  had  thrown  her. 

Madame  Washolm  soon  gathered  herself,  however, 
and  continued:  "Tasso  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
subject  under  discussion.  We  are  interested  only  in 
Magister  Holmer  and  his  peasant  school." 

"My  wife  is  right,"  interrupted  the  little,  fat  priest, 
who  sat  like  a  cipher  beside  a  figure  one;  "my  wife  is 
right.  That  is  the  question.  My  brother  has  not  yet 
answered  my  objections  to  the  project." 

"Your  objections  are  quickly  disposed  of,"  said  the 
pastor.  "My  brother  fears  that  my  son-in-law's 
school,  and  the  education  of  the  common  people,  will 
beget  such  beings  as  he  has  just  named.  But  who  can- 
not see  that  it  will  lead  to  their  destruction?  For,  with 
enlightenment,  the  peasantry  will  have  no  occasion 
for  employing  such  rascals,  ever  ready  to  deceive  the 
simple  and  credulous.  They  will  learn  how  to  use 
their  own  wits,  and  the  little  education  they  may  re- 
ceive in  childhood  will  not,  I  hope,  make  them  as 
proud  and  untractable  as  you  apprehend,  but  humble, 
for,  when  they  are  once  admitted  to  the  field  of  knowl- 
edge, they  will  perceive  it  to  be  limitless,  and  will 
thereby  be  made  to  see  with  greater  clearness  their 


460  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

own  insignifiance,  their  own  nothingness,  and  this 
knowledge  will  conduce  to  their  humbleness.  And 
such  is  the  object  of  the  school  that  my  noble  and 
worthy  son-in-law,  assisted  by  my  daughter,  is  con- 
ducting. " 

"Even  so,"  said  the  priest,  "but  it  can  amount  to 
nothing  more  than  a  half  view,  a  lifting  of  the  mist." 

The  pastor  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Which  is  best?"  asked  he,  "to  have  only  one  eye, 
or  to  be  totally  blind?  To  work  in  the  dawn,  or  in 
midnight  darkness?  Answer  me,  brother." 

"Your  comparisons  are  not  applicable,  it  seems  to 
me." 

"Yes,  they  are  as  applicable  as  comparisons  can  be. 
For  why  are  we,  the  peasant  as  well  as  others,  put 
here  in  this  world?  Is  it  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 
plod  through  this  weary  life, midst  trials  and  troubles, 
in  the  darkness  of  ignorance?  May  not  even  the 
peasant  be  permitted  sometimes  to  lift  his  thoughts 
above  the  earth, to  look  out  beyond  the  material  into  the 
spiritual?  Ought  we,  who  call  ourselves  educated  and 
enlightened,  to  grudge  the  lowliest  of  our  brothers  the 
glorious  advantages  of  education  and  enlightenment?" 

Pastor  Bergholm  uttered  these  words  in  a  voice  trem- 
bling with  emotion.  The  noble  old  man,  inspired  and 
animated  by  the  thoughts  that,  for  the  moment,  pos- 
sessed him— thoughts  of  the  poor,  despised  and  humil- 
iated peasantry  for  whose  well-being  his  heart  beat 
warmly,  the  intellectually  blind  to  whom  he  would 
give  sight— forgot  for  the  instant  to  whom  he  was 
speaking;  forgot  that  he  to  whom  he  was  addressing 
himself  was  a  narrow-minded,  egotistical  priest,  in- 
capable of  grasping  the  idea  that  animated  and  en- 
raptured the  finely  educated,  intelligent  and  lofty 
minded  man. 


OLD  ACQUAINTANCES  461 

"I  see  already,  in  my  mind's  eye,  the  dawn  of  the 
day,"  continued  the  pastor  with  agumented  earnest- 
ness, "when  the  newly  adopted  ideas  of  civilization 
shall  cross  swords  with  ignorance  and  darkness;  when 
these  helpless  children  of  my  native  land  shall  no 
longer  be  left  entirely  to  their  fate;  when  there  shall 
be  schools  in  every  village;  when  the  popular  sciences 
shall  no  longer  be  strangers  to  the  mass  of  the  Swedish 
people;  and  when  the  peasant  who  plows  the  field 
may,  with  gladness  and  gratitude,  look  back  to  the 
time  when  he  was  a  school-boy." 

"The  Lord  preserve  us!  "  interrupted  Madame  Was- 
holm.  "God  spare  me  from  existence  when  such  a 
time  comes  as  you  seem  to  see  looming  up  in  the 
future." 

The  pastor  did  not  reply.  The  woman's  utterance 
had  dispelled  his  dream. 

The  priest  finally  took  his  leave,  determined  to  do 
everything  possible  in  opposition  to  Holmer  and  his 
school, 

When  the  guests  had  departed,  the  pastor,  shaking 
himself  together,  exclaimed: 

"God  be  praised  that  we  are  rid  of  them,  Brita! 
Such  a  cackler  as  that  woman  I  have  never  seen. 
The  comparison  makes  me  love  you  better,  Brita, 
though  you  have  never  heard  speak  of  Tasso. " 

"But  you  chaff  her  continually,  Bergholm." 

"Chaff  her!  Has  not  her  mutton-headed  husband 
done  everything  imaginable  all  day  to  irritate  me— 
prating  about  the  disastrous  consequences  of  Holmer's 
school!  They  ought  to  be  ashamed!" 

"Papa  dear,"  cried  the  girls,  surrounding  their 
father,  "do  not  be  angry  any  longer,  but  go  with  us 
to  Marielund  for  a  little  visit.  We  promised  Marie 


462  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

yesterday,  that  we  would  call  this  evening  and  see  her 
with  her  pupils.  It  is  now  only  five.  Come,  papa 
dear. " 

"I'll  go  with  you  in  a  few  minutes,  children,  but 
let  me  open  my  mail  first.  I  see  Bertha  coming  up 
the  walk  with  the  pouch.  She  has  some  letters,  per- 
haps." 

The  pastor  took  the  pouch  from  the  girl  upon  her 
arrival,  and,  opening  it,  found  a  well-filled  envelope 
bearing  the  Upsala  post-mark. 

"From  Maurits, "  said  he  to  himself  as  he  broke  the 
seal.  "That  is  a  boy  after  my  own  heart.  How  de- 
voted he  is.  He  does  not  forget  his  old  teacher,  not- 
withstanding his  success.  Ah!  "  added  he  with  a  sigh, 
"why  did  not  God  grant  me  that  my  own  son  become 
— but  it  is  useless  to  complain.  'The  wolf  should 
remain  in  the  forest,  and  the  dove  in  the  dove-cote/ 
the  saying  goes." 

Unfolding  the  letter,  he  read  it  to  the  end. 

"Well,  what  does  he  write?"  inquired  Mrs.  Berg- 
holm. 

"Brita,  the  little  guest-chamber  next  to  mine  must 
be  put  in  order  as  well  as  circumstances  will  permit." 

"My  dear  Bergholm,  my  milk  cans  are  there!" 

"Do  as  I  bid  you!  The  milk  cans  must  be  moved 
to  the  pantry,  and  the  room  put  in  order;  for  Maurits 
Sterner  is  coining  to  spend  a  few  weeks  with  us. 
Make  the  room  as  neat  and  attractive  as  you  can,  and 
keep  in  mind  that  its  prospective  occupant  promises 
to  become  one  of  the  foremost  of  European  poets. 
And  what  is  more,  do  not  forget  that  he  is  a  house- 
hold friend." 

"What  do  I  care  for  the  poets  of  Europe?  "  growled 
Madame  Bergholm.  "I  am  much  more  concerned 


OLD   ACQUAINTANCES  463 

about  my  milk  cans.  A  friend  of  the  household,  surely! 
As  if  that  boy  did  not  have  you  to  thank  for  all  that 
he  is  and  has.  And  your  room  is  not  good  enough 
for  him,  he  must  have  one  all  to  himself.  But  you 
have  always  shown  a  weakness  for  him,  and  I  believe, 
God  forgive  me,  that  you  love  him  more  than  your 
own  wife  and  children." 

"More  than  my  wife's  milk  cans,  at  any  rate,"  in- 
terposed the  pastor  mildly. 

"Mamma  sweet,"  interrupted  Louise, who  was  dearest 
to  her  mother  because  of  great  assistance  in  the  house- 
hold cares,  "we  will  help  you  move  the  milk  cans  and 
provisions.  Most  assuredly,  Mr.  Sterner  shall  have  a 
room  to  himself.  He  deserves  it  for  the  beautiful 
play  he  has  written,  and  which  he  so  kindly  sent  us 
last  autumn.  Mamma,  you  remember  it,  'The  Amber 
Heart.'" 

"Yes,  yes,  my  child,  I  remember  it, "  answered  Ma- 
dame Bergholm,  whose  anger  was  easily  appeased, 
"though  I  did  not  read  it.  Well,  well,  we  must  move 
the  things,  I  suppose.  You  may  help  me  in  the  morn- 
ing, girls.  When  does  Mr.  Sterner  come?" 

"Sometime  next  week.  He  could  not  set  the  day, 
but  writes  that  he  is  tired  of  Upsala,  and  will  come 
down  here  to  shake  off  the  book  dust.  I'll  write  to 
Oscar,  and  invite  him  to  come  for  a  few  days.  The 
two  gentlemen  may  room  together." 

"That  is  a  kind  husband,"  now  quite  at  ease  about 
her  milk  cans.  "If  Oscar  is  to  come,  I  am  ready  to 
do  anything  you  may  command.  Maurits  has  a  warm 
place  in  my  regard,  but  'blood  is  thicker  than  water. '" 

"Than  milk  too,"  said  the  pastor  laughing.  "Aside 
from  this,  there  is  nothing  in  Maurits'  letter  that  will 
interest  you.  He  speaks  of  his  studies,  and  his  hopes 


464  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

for  the  future,  but  he  has  not  yet  let  me  into  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  contents  of  the  papers  received  from  his 
dying  mother,  which  he  was  to  open  on  his  twentieth 
birthday.  'When  we  meet,'  he  says,  'I  will  give  you 
a  full  account,  and  I  feel  certain  you  will  approve  my 
conduct.'  But  come  now,  girls,  let  us  go  to  Marie- 
lund." 

The  girls  were  soon  ready,  putting  on  their  hats 
being  all  that  was  necessary,  for  the  air  was  as  balmy 
as  on  a  mid-summer  day,  and  they  prepared  to  start. 

'Well,  will  you  have  me  with  you?" 

i;If  you  have  time,  Brita,"  said  the  pastor.  "We 
will  go  en  grande  famille, "  added  he  laughing. 

"Bertha,  do  not  forget  to  wash  the  peas  and  keep 
an  eye  to  the  fire,"  shouted  Madame  Bergholm  to  the 
maid,  at  the  same  time  donning  her  head  dress,  "I 
shall  be  absent  for  a  time." 

The  little  family  set  out  upon  their  way,  the  gay 
and  frolicsome  girls  chasing  the  many-hued  butterflies 
that  fluttered  over  the  emerald  green  meadows'  newly 
awakened  verdure.  It  was  a  glorious  spring  even- 
ing on  one  of  the  last  days  of  May.  The  sky  was 
blue,  and  blue  were  the  sparkling  brooks  and  the 
dancing  waves  of  the  adjacent  lake  wherein  the  sink- 
ing sun  viewed  himself  in  all  his  glor}'.  A  thousand 
birds  fluttered  in  the  green  trees,  and  thousands  of 
tiny  flowers  lifted  their  bashful  heads  to  listen  the 
their  joyful  twittering.  In  the  distance  was  heard 
the  horn  of  the  herder,  and  on  all  sides  could  be 
distinguished  the  buzzing  of  the  myriads  of  winged 
insects  that  swarmed  in  the  rays  of  the  spring  sun. 

The  way  led  the  pastor  and  his  family  over  a  bridge, 
the  same  from  which,  eight  years  before,  Isabella 
Ehrenstam  plunged  into  the  water  below.  Here  the 


OLD   ACQUAINTANCES  465 

pastor  paused  an  instant  to  contemplate  the  magnifi- 
cent view  that  was  opened  to  him  along  the  banks  of 
the  stream,  and  finally  spread  out  in  a  distant  perspec- 
tive where  the  eyes  rested  upon  the  Wener's  majestic- 
ally calm  s'urface. 

"See,  children!"  said  he,  gathering  his  three  daugh- 
ters around  him,  "see  what  a  beautiful  picture  the 
good  Lord  has  spread  before  us  for  our  pleasure;  see 
how  the  sun  gradually  winds  its  girdle  of  gold  around 
the  earth,  sinking  slowly  down  into  the  chambers  of 
the  deep.  O,  that  sun  whose  rays  are  kindled  for  us 
all,  my  children!  There  is  nothing  so  insignificant 
that  it  is  not  invigorated  by  its  light,  and  yet  there 
are  those  who,  scoffing  at  the  Creator,  declare  that 
only  a  select  few  are  given  to  enjoy  the  inner,  the 
spiritual  light;  that  there  is  no  sunrise  of  the  intellect 
for  the  unfortunate,  the  pariahs  of  humanity,  but  that 
they  are  doomed  to  eternal  night.  Woe  to  these 
scoffers!  They  will  not  understand  their  Maker's  de- 
signs. They  oppose  their  own  peculiar  and  circum- 
scribed views  to  the  principle  of  universal  liberty  that 
makes  itself  so  manifest  in  all  nature." 

The  pastor  ceased  and  stood  a  long  time  deeply 
engaged  with  his  reflections.  It  was  one  of  his  dis- 
tractions that  at  the  moment  overcame  him.  He  for- 
got everything,  and  in  vain  his  wife  tugged  several 
times  at  his  coat  in  the  effort  to  arouse  him.  He 
responded  only  with  a  mechanical  motion  of  his  hand 
as  if  to  say,  "Do  not  disturb  me,  my  mind  is  occupied 
with  other  matters. " 

Madame  Bergholm,  becoming  impatient,  at  last  gave 
her  husband  a  vigorous  shake,  exclaiming: 

"Why  do  you  stand  there  dreaming,  Bergholm? 
Have  you  forgotten  that  we  are  on  our  way  to  Marie- 
lund?  Come  along!  " 


466  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

'You  are  right,  wife,"  said  he,  roused  from  his  med- 
itations, "I  was  dreaming.  Come,  let  us  proceed." 

About  a  mile  from  the  parsonage,  a  narrow  by-path 
wound  off  to  the  left  through  the  forest.  This  path 
led  to  Marielund,  the  dwelling-place  of  th'e  pastor's 
son-in  law  and  daughter. 

The  residence  of  this  happy  couple  consisted  of  a 
one  story,  white-painted  house,  surrounded  by  leafy 
birches  and  lindens.  Back  of  the  building,  was  a  very 
pretty  and  well  kept  garden  that  sloped  gently  toward 
a  stream  which  skirted  its  further  side.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  stream,  and  to  the  right  and  left  of  the 
building,  stretched  the  fields  belonging  to  the  prop- 
erty. In  front  of  the  house  was  a  smooth,  grassy 
lawn  shaded  by  trees,  and  beyond  this  the  stable  and 
other  out-houses.  Back  of  this  again,  stretched  a 
dark  forest  of  pines  of  which  a  considerable  portion 
belonged  to  Holmer's  farm.  A  pretty  green  fence 
enclosed  the  lawn  and  separated  it  from  the  road. 

Such  was  the  place  that  Baron  Ehrenstam,  in  ac- 
cordance with  his  early  promise,  had  settled  upon  his 
children's  former  teacher.  It  had  previously  been  a 
tenanted  property  belonging  to  the  Liljedahl  estate, 
but  Holmer  and  his  wife  held  title  to  it  for  the  period 
of  their  natural  lives,  which  the  baron  had,  liberally 
enough,  set  at  eighty  years.  Holmer  was  now  about 
forty  and  the  property  would  remain,  therefore,  yet 
fort)'  years  in  possession  of  him  or  his  family,  after 
which  it  would  revert  to  the  heirs  of  the  baron.  Such 
were  the  conditions. 

It  cannot  be  disputed  that  this  was  a  very  generous 
compensation  for  a  teacher,  but  the  baron  was  also 
the  possessor  of  a  million,  and  in  this  had  done  noth- 
ing remarkable.  Moreover,  his  egoism  notwithstand- 


OLD  ACQUAINTANCES  467 

ing,  he  loved  now  and  then  to  make  a  show  of  liber- 
ality, and  he  listened  with  no  little  pleasure  to  the 
praise  bestowed  upon  him  by  his  neighbors  for  his 
generosity  to  his  children's  teacher,  who,  by  his  untir- 
ing patience,  his  many  years  of  faithful  service,  had 
surely  earned  it  all.  And,  too,  it  was  only  a  few  hun- 
dred dollars  taken  from  the  rich  man's  income,  that 
he  had  sacrificed  from  his  abundance.  The  rent  had 
never  amounted  to  any  more,  besides,  the  tenants  had 
never  taken  good  care  of  the  property,  and  many  had 
been  turned  off  because  they  did  not  pay  their  rent, 
while  in  the  keeping  of  the  industrious  and  order-lov- 
ing Holmer  it  had  increased  in  value  a  considerable. 

Thus  matters  stood  when  Holmer,  out  of  his  good- 
ness of  heart,  conceived  the  plan  of  employing  his 
unoccupied  hours  in  teaching  the  children  of  the  com- 
munity. 

This  enterprise  he  had  just  set  in  motion.  He  was 
not  rich,  and  could  not  indulge  in  the  works  of  charity 
which  money  enables  one  to  do.  But  he  was  moved 
by  an  inner,  and  an  instinctive  desire,  to  assist  his 
fellows,  and,  when  he  pondered  upon  the  means  by 
which  this  desire  could  be  gratified,  he  found  nothing 
more  practicable,  more  in  accord  with  his  inclinations 
and  ability,  than  to  spread  the  light,  the  seed  of  piety 
and  virtue,  as  he  hoped,  among  the  ignorant  and,  in 
those  days,  the  woefully  neglected,  children  of  the 
community  in  which  he  dwelt. 

To  this  end,  he  went  among  the  cottagers.  Every- 
where he  found  credulity,  ignorance  and  superstition, 
and  his  heart  was  made  heavy  thereat.  He  talked 
with  the  fathers  and  mothers,  and  offered  to  take  their 
children  to  his  home  every  evening  and  give  them  in- 
struction. Holmer  was  eloquent  when  he  laid  before 


468  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

the  parents  the  great  advantages  that  education  would 
afford  their  children.  They  listened  to  his  words,  and 
many  of  them  accepted  his  kind  offer,  after  they  had 
consulted  their  pastor,  Bergholm.  "It  possesses  one 
merit  at  least,"  thought  they,  "it  will  cost  us  nothing." 
In  this  manner,  the  school  was  organized.  Some- 
thing like  eighteen  or  twenty  boys  and  as  many  girls 
were  soon  brought  together  even7  afternoon  at  Marie 
lund,  where  the  teacher  and  his  good  wife  might  be 
seen  daily,  busied  with  their  newly  imposed  duties. 
We  shall  soon  see  what  methods  were  employed. 
We  must  now  return  from  our  digression,  to  the  pas- 
tor and  his  family,  whom  we  left  on  the  way. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AT   MARIELUND 

When  Pastor  Bergholm  and  his  family  reached  the 
gate  that  opened  upon  the  lawn  just  described,  this  scene 
met  their  eyes.  Between  thirty  and  forty  children  of 
both  sexes  were  seated  in  a  circle  on  the  ground  near 
a  see-saw  standing  by  the  wall  of  the  house.  The 
greater  number  of  these  children  were  upward  of  ten 
years  of  age,  and  not  a  few  of  them  quite  fifteen.  In 
the  midst  of  the  group  was  seen  the  noble  and  benev- 
olent face  of  Holmer,  seated  on  a  stone  which  he  had 
brought  into  service  as  a  chair.  In  his  hands  he  held 
a  globe  which  he  was  explaining  to  his  curious  listen- 
ers, who  were  now,  for  the  first  time,  made  aware  that 
the  world  is  round.  In  his  calm,  clear  and  pleasing 
manner,  he  laid  before  his  pupils  the  simplest  lesson 
in  physical  geography.  On  the  see-saw,  back  of  her 
husband,  sat  his  wife  with  a  sleeping  babe  resting  on 
her  knees,  listening,  meanwhile,  to  a  seven  year- old 
girl  who  stood  at  her  side  reading  the  catechism. 
The  little  miss  was  not  yet  old  enough  to  take  part  in 
the  exercises  of  the  other  children,  wherefore  Maiie 
had  assumed  her  instruction. 

"O,  if  Lillanna  will  be  good  and  induscrious, "  said 
Marie,  "she  can  soon  catch  up  with  the  others,  when 
she  will  be  taught  many  wonderful  things  that  Master 
Holmer  is  now  teaching  the  other  children." 

Lillanna  was  doing  her  best,  and  could  already  read 

469 


47°  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

with  readiness  though  she  stumbled  now  and  then 
over  a  word.  She  was  clever  and  eager  for  knowledge 
which  encouraged  Marie  to  hope  much  for  her  little 
pupil. 

Upon  the  arrival  of  Pastor  Bergholm,  all  rose,  and 
Holmer  advanced  to  greet  his  father-in-law.  The  girls 
and  their  mother  hastened  toward  Marie,  and  were 
soon  seated  with  her  on  the  see-saw. 

"Go  on,  Carissimcf  said  the  pastor,  after  shaking 
hands  with  Holmer;  "go  on  with  your  teaching.  I  will 
seat  myself  with  your  pupils,  and  be  instructed  also," 
whereupon  he  threw  himself  at  whole  length  upon  the 
ground  among  the  children;  and  Holmer  resumed. 

There  was  in  Holmer' s  manner  of  address  such  a 
clearness  and  comprehensiveness  that  every  child,  even 
to  the  smallest,  seemed  to  understand  him,  and  all 
gave  him  the  most  marked  attention.  Not  a  word 
was  lost,  and  concerning  what  they  did  not  at  once 
grasp,  a  strong  desire  was  evinced  at  the  close  of  the 
lesson  for  more  light.  Holmer  used  no  text  books, 
niether  did  he  give  his  pupils  lessons  to  memorize, 
but  taught  them  altogether  orally,  Great  care  was 
exercised  to  first  lay  the  subject  in  hand  clearly  before 
them,  after  which,  he  ascertained,  by  interrogating 
his  class,  how  thoroughly  he  had  been  understood. 
This  he  believed  to  be  not  alone  the  best  but  really 
the  only  practical  method  with  such  as  were  his  pu- 
pils. "Set  lessons  bewilder  them,"  he  declared,  "and 
it  would  be  impossible  to  give  each  one  separate  at- 
tention." 

For  an  hour,  he  talked  to  his  little  hearers,  after 
which  the  questioning  began.  Going  from  one  to  the 
other,  each  was  interrogated  in  something  like  the 
following  manner:  "Well,  Matts  Perrson's  Ole, 
what  can  you  tell  me  about  the  earth?" 


AT    MARiELUNl)  47! 

"It  is  round,"  answered  the  boy. 

"And  you,  Erik,  do  you  know  whether  it  is  at  a 
standstill,  or  moving?" 

''It  is  standing  still,  sir,"  answered  Erik,  who  had 
probably  not  been  as  attentive  as  he  might. 

"Indeed,  Erik!      Now,  children,  what  do   you  say? " 

"It  got;s  around  the  sun,"  came  the  answer  in 
chorus. 

In  this  manner,  the  examination  was  continued  for 
some  time.  Each  was  questioned  in  turn,  and  before 
the  finish,  all  gave  evidence  of  having  grasped  a  good 
slure  of  the  master's  meaning.  Following  this,  a 
chapter  was  read  from  the  New  Testament,  of  which 
every  child  had  a  volume.  This  was  succeeded  by  a 
prayer,  when  they  were  dismissed.  After  thanking 
their  teacher  for  his  trouble,  and  promising  to  ponder 
over  and  endeavor  to  retain  what  they  had  that  day 
boon  ta-.ight,  they  dispersed  to  their  homes. 

The  children  well  out  of  the  way,  the  two  men 
seated  themselves  on  the  see  saw,  the  women  having 
followed  Marie  into  the  house. 

"You  are  truly  doing  a  most  excellent  work,"  said 
the  pastor, glancing  toward  the  retiring  score  and  a  half 
of  children  in  the  distance,  "a  divine  work,  the  issue 
of  a  noble  mind.  God  grant  you  his  blessing  and  suc- 
cess in  your  endeavor,  my  son." 

Holmer  did  not  respond.  A  cloud  gathered  upon 
his  forehead.  It  was  clear  that  the  usually  serene  and 
cheerful  man  was  depressed  by  some  impending 
trouble. 

"You  are  silent,"  said  the  pastor,  "you  look  dis- 
tressed. What  disturbs  you?" 

"O  father,  the  school  that  has  grown  to  be  such  a 
great  source  of  pleasure  to  me,  who  could  believe  it 


472  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

would  become  a  needle  in  the  side  of  any  one  in  the 
community?  But  it  is  so,  and  it  is  this  that  wounds 
had  distresses  me." 

"They  are  opposed  to  the  enlightenment  of  the  peas- 
ants, of  that  I  am  aware,  my  son.  Ah,  I  know  these 
narrow-minded  creatures!  To  use  Mrs.  Washolm's 
words,  they  fear  them,  and  will  not  permit  the  intru- 
sion of  the  lower  class  into  the  territory  of  the  aris- 
tocracy, and  at  their  head  stands  the  priest,  the  so- 
called  piilar  of  the  church.  But  we  will  have  some- 
thing to  say  in  the  matter,  they  shall  see." 

"Ah,  father!  It  is  not  alone  the  ppiest.  Have  you 
an  idea  who  they  are  who  have  incited  this  worthy 
pair  to  persecute  and  oppose  me  and  my  school?" 

'No.      Who  are  they?  ' 

"None  other  than  my  former  employer,  the  baron, 
and  his  wife.  The  baron  summoned  me  yesterday, 
and  condemned  my  'hellish  project,'  as  he  termed  it, 
in  the  strongest  terms.1' 

"And  what  reply  did  you  make?" 

"I  informed  him  politely,  but  resolutely,  that  I  was 
a  free  and  independent  being,  no  longer  bound  to  obey 
his  commands,  and  that  so  long  as  I  did  nothing  un- 
lawful, he  had  no  right  to  interfere  with  me." 

"That  was  well  put,  my  son.  I  said  the  same  thing 
yesterday  to  the  priest  and  his  wife.  Well,  and 
Ehrenstam,  what  did  he  say?" 

"You  should  have  seen  his  fury.  It  was  actually 
fearful.  He  clenched  his  hands  and  roared  like  a 
madman. 

"'Do  you  not  know,'  shouted  he,  'that  he  who  gave 
you  the  roof  over  your  head  can  deprive  you  of  it;  can 
drive  both  you  and  your  wife  from  its  shelter!  A  beg- 
gar such  as  you,  living  upon  my  charity,  should  not 
oppose  his  benefactor's  wishes.'" 


AT    MARIELUND  473 

"Abominable!"  exclaimed  the  pastor  with  flashing 
eyes.  "And  what  did  you  say  to  this  outbreak?" 

"'Baron  Ehrenstam,'  said  I,  'respect  for  your  gray 
hair  commands  me  to  moderation,  though  your  words 
deserve  an  emphatic  rebuke.  I  do  not  live  upon  your 
charity,  and  I  am  in  no  sense  your  debtor;  neither 
can  you  deprive  me  of  my  property  which  you  gave 
me,  according  to  agreement,  in  payment  for  my  serv- 
ices. And  concerning  my  school,  I  shall  continue  it, 
your  anger  notwithstanding.  Good  day,  Baron  Ehren- 
stam.' With  these  words,  I  opened  the  door  and  de- 
parted, leaving  him  beside  himself  with  rage." 

"Well  answered,  and  see  to  it  that  you  are  not  less 
determined  in  the  future.  What  one  regards  as  right, 
that  which  he  looks  upon  as  a  duty,  he  must  perform 
whatever  difficults  and  sufferings  may  encounter. 
Moreover,  what  can  the  baron  do?" 

"He  can't  take  away  my  farm,  quite  true,  but  with 
the  power  that  wealth  and  position  give  him,  he  can 
wholly  destroy  the  fruits  of  my  work.  He  can  forbid 
the  tenants'  children  coming  to  my  school." 

"No,  he  can't,"  interrupted  the  pastor.  "The  peas- 
ants are  not  slaves;  and  it  is  no  affair  of  the  baron's 
if  they  wish  their  children  educated." 

"True,  he  cannot  directly  forbid  it,  but  he  can  in- 
directly prevent  it.  They  are  dependent  on  him;  he 
can  evict  them  from  their  homes;  he  can  seize  their 
little  belongings  to  satisfy  the  demands  he  may  make 
upon  them.  O,  he  can  find  a  thousand  excuses  and 
ways  to  accomplish  his  end.  And  the  priest,  who  is 
his  creature,  will  surely  not  fail  to  assist  him.  This 
man  will  call  to  aid  the  superstitious  credulity  of  the 
people,  and  will  picture  my  school  to  the  ignorant  as 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  an  evil  breeding  institu- 


474  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

tion.  He  will  tell  them  that  it  is  my  design  to  in- 
struct their  children  in  worldliness  and  sinfulness 
only;  that  one  teacher  is  all  they  require,  etc.,  etc., 
and  with  such  powerful  opponents,  my  school  must  go 
down.  The  baron  will  enlist  Count  Stjernekrantz  of 
Odensvik,  with  whom  he  is  closely  allied,  and  he  will 
undoubtedly  take  sides  against  me.  These  two  power- 
ful men  will  then  use  their  influence  with  every  one 
in  the  parish,  and,  finally,  in  reward  for  all  my  trouble, 
I  shall  have  nothing  but  the  scorn  of  both  high  and 
low.  So  it  will  come  about,  you  shall  see." 

"God  forbid!  We  will  employ  .  every  possible 
means  to  circumvent  your  enemies'  designs.  We  have 
friends  also,  let  us  hope.  I  will  talk  with  the  people 
of  my  parish.  I  will  tell  them  that  they  must  not 
allow  themselves  to  be  frightened,  and  you  must  ap- 
peal to  your  former  pupils,  the  young  baron  and  his 
sister.  They  must  have  some  influence  with  their 
father. " 

"Ah!  my  dear  sir,  as  for  George,  he  will  sustain  his 
father  in  everything.  I  know  him  well.  No  one  can 
possess  a  prouder  or  more  despotic  disposition  than 
he.  My  instructions  have  fallen  upon  him  like  seed 
on  stony  ground.  During  all  my  years  as  his  tutor, 
I  was  unable  lo  mold  or  make  the  slightest  impression 
upon  his  character.  I  sought  to  inculcate  some  of  the 
nobler  principles,  but  he  has  followed  closely  in  the 
footsteps  of  his  sire.  He  has  become  an  aristocrat  in 
the  broadest  sense  of  the  term,  and  it  is  quite  natural 
that  he  should  be  so,  for  the  seeds  I  sowed  in  that 
hard  and  unfruitful  heart  were  pulled  up  by  his  parent 
before  they  had  time  to  take  root.  'It  is  my  son's  ed- 
ucation that  you  are  to  look  after,'  the  baron  always 
said,  'his  morals  and  general  conduct  will  be  my  con- 


AT    MARIELUND  475 

cern  alone.'  Under  such  circumstances,  I  am  not 
responsible,  you  must  admit,  for  the  corruption  the 
youngster  has  absorbed." 

"Truly  not,  but  I  can't  see  how  you  remained  so 
long,  under  such  conditions,  in  the  place  you  occupied 
in  the  family." 

"It  was  mostly  on  Isabella's  account.  She  is  an 
angel;  the  noblest,  the  most  innocent,  and  withal,  the 
most  heroic-minded  woman  I  know.  And  just  on  this 
account  she  has  always  been  slighted  by  her  parents, 
both  of  whom  have  favored  the  son  at  all  times  at 
the  expense  of  the  daughter's  rights  and  what  was  due 
her.  She  has  always  been  kept  at  arm's  length,  and 
never  shown  any  kindness,until  she  has  become  as  shy 
of  them,  finally,  as  a  deer  in  the  forest.  But  when 
she  comes  to  me,  I  wipe  away  her  tears,  or  we  weep 
together.  I  have  conducted  that  young  fiery  soul  into 
a  world  where  she  has  found  a  compensating  pleasure, 
however — into  the  world  of  art  and  beauty.  Are  you 
prepared  to  believe  it,  father?  She  possesses  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  richest  quality:  a  knowledge  of  subjects 
that  men  will  not  readily  believe  women  capable  of 
grasping.  Her  acquaintance  with  the  dead  languages 
is  quite  as  good  as  with  the  living,  and  even  philoso- 
phy is  not  a  mystery  to  her.  With  an  eagerness  for 
knowledge  seldom  met  with,  she  sat  at  my  feet  as  a 
child,  as  a  maiden,  and  inquired  into,  investigated 
and  learned  all  that  I  could  teach  her.  Even  now, 
she  sometimes  steals  away  from  home  to  come  here 
and  read  Herminius,  by  Tasso;  Romeo  and  Juliet's 
moonlight  conversation,  or  the  monologue  of  the 
dying  Ajax,  by  Sophocles." 

"A  rare  girl  that!"  exclaimed  the  pastor  with 
warmth;  "it  must  have  been  very  interesting  to  have 
had  such  a  pupil." 


476  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"You  should  have  seen  her,  father,  when,  fresh  as 
the  morning  breezes  that  play  among  the  tree  tops, 
she  hastened  to  the  cottages  of  the  poor,  the  needy 
and  distressed.  It  was  not  alone  her  alms  that  alle- 
viated their  sufferings,  but  the  words  that  flowed  from 
her  lips;  words  of  comfort  and  consolation  that  fell 
like  balsam  on  their  burning  sores.  And  again,  you 
should  have  seen  her  in  the  evening  hours  at  the 
piano,  dreaming  the  most  glorious  fantasies  with  no 
other  listener  than  me.  You  would  have  heard  music 
that  rivals  the  soft  sigh  of  the  winds  among  the  Ital- 
ian mountain  pines,  or  such  as  the  airy  tones  pro- 
duced by  the  plaintive  aeolian  harp.  Notes  at  times 
wild,  boisterous,  like  the  dreams  of  a  madman;  at 
times,  full,  harmonious,  rich,  as  the  tones  of  a  seraph's 
harp;  again  enticing,  bewitching,  as  the  lyre  of  a 
siren." 

"If  I  may  believe  you,  my  son,  this  girl  must  be  an 
extraordinary  creature.  And  she  is  beautiful,  too,  as 
beautiful  as  tradition  paints  the  Greek  Aphrodite. 
Such  a  person  must  possess  strong  passions,"  added 
the  pastor  as  if  to  himself. 

"Passions,  yes,  I  fear  you  are  right,  father,  but  they 
still  slumber  in  the  depths  of  her  heart.  Thus  far, 
this  indwelling  fire  has  manifested  itself  only  in  a 
thirst  for  knowledge,  in  admiration  for  the  beautiful; 
but  should  she  sometime  chance  upon  the  ideal  of 
her  dreams,  she  will  be  found  rich  in  a  love  deep, 
immeasurable,  passionate,  self-sacrificing.  Like  the 
Indian  maiden,  she  would  climb  mountains  to  reach 
her  lover,  or  like  Tegner's  Maria,  seek  him  over  land 
and  sea;  but  she  has  not  yet  found  her  Prometheus." 

"I  have  heard  it  said  that  the  baron  intends  to  marry 
her  to  Count  Stjernekrantz,"  observed  the  pastor. 


AT    MARIKLUND  477 

"Yes,  such  a  rumor  has  been  current,  but,  fortu- 
nately for  Isabella,  he  seems  little  inclined  that  way, 
if  he  has  not  very  lately  changed  his  mind.  That  she 
would  rather  die  than  give  her  hand  to  that  disso- 
lute, sensual  creature,  I  am  thoroughly  convinced.  Al- 
though shy  of  her  parents,  her  will  is  of  the  firmest, 
and  she  will  not  be  forced  into  such  a  thing." 

"She  has,  then,  no  nifhience  with  her  parents,  and 
can  accomplish  nothing  for  your  school?"  asked  the 
pastor. 

"Nothing, '' answered  Holmer.  "The  baron  would 
not  pay  the  least  attention  to  her  if  he  did  not  repel 
her  with  scorn.  If  it  depended  on  her,  there  were  no 
danger,  for  she  has  more  than  once  encouraged  me  to 
the  undertaking,  and  has  contributed  books  for  the 
children.  But,  as  I  have  said,  her  parents  will  do 
nothing  for  me  because  it  is  her  wish.  They  do  not 
understand  her.  She  is  a  riddle  to  them,  and  of  all 
her  accomplishments,  she  possesses  only  one  that  they 
admire. " 

"And  what  is  that?"  asked  the  pastor. 

"It  is  her  dancing.  In  this  art,  she  has  attained  a 
proficiency  that  would  make  her  a  worthy  rival  of  the 
renowned  Taglioni.  At  the  great  festivals  at  Liljedahl, 
she  is  called  upon  to  display  her  talent  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  the  guests,  and  she  does  it  with  pleasure, 
for  she  is  passionately  fond  of  dancing.  You  should 
see  her  on  such  an  occasion.  It  is  as  if  a  seraph 
floated  on  airy  wings.  She  dances  not  only  with  her 
body,  but  with  her  soul.  She  becomes  inspired,  and 
her  beautiful  deep  blue  eyes  are  lighted  up  with  an 
unusual  glow.  Tradition  tells  us  that  the  elves  were 
wont  to  dance  for  pleasure  in  the  moonlight  upon  the 
green  turf,  but  with  Isabella  it  is  not  alone  a  pleasure, 


'I'HE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

it  is  not  alone  with  her  whole  heart  that  she  enters 
into  it,  but  her  soul  is  in  the  dance." 

The  dialogue  of  the  two  men  was  here  broken  short 
by  Marie,  who  came  out  to  bid  them  come  to  supper. 

"See  here,  men,"  said  she  pleasantly,  "you  must 
cease  your  prattle.  Pretty  cavaliers  you  are,  to  leave 
us  ladies  wholly  to  ourselves.  And  papa  has  not  once 
asked  about  his  little  Wendela  to  day.  Will  grandpa 
not  come  in  and  kiss  his  grand-daughter?" 

"We  will  be  with  you  immediately,"  said  the  pastor 
rising.  "But  have  you  anything  for  us  to  eat?  I  am 
really  very  hungry. " 

"Yes,  you  shall  have  broiled  ham  with  spinach, 
sweet-breads  and  some  excellent  soup." 

"Good,  my  chick,  you  could  not  have  invited  us  to 
anything  more  tempting." 

Arm  in  arm  with  her  father  and  her  husband,  the 
cheerful  Marie  entered  the  little  dining-room  through 
whose  snow  white  curtains  the  evening  sun  was  still 
peeping.  Everything  here  was  plain,  but  tasteful, 
sunny  and  cheery.  The  paper  on  the  walls  in  all  the 
rooms  was  very  light,  and  was  adorned  with  pictures 
painted  by  Holmer  himself,  who  was  by  no  means  a 
poor  artist. 

The  furniture  was  simple  but  in  neat  accord  with 
its  surroundings,  and  in  the  parlor  was  even  a  piano, 
a  bargain  that  Holmer  had  chanced  upon  at  an  auc- 
tion. On  the  table  under  the  mirror,  were  a  half 
dozen  very  handsome  tea-cups  of*  Sevres  porcelain. 
They  were  grouped  in  a  half-circle  around  two  still 
more  beautiful,  of  East  India  make.  Where  Holmer 
had  procured  these,  Marie  did  not  know,  for  her  hus- 
band had  never  informed  her,  but  that  there  were 
memories  of  a  something  in  Holmer's  past  life  con- 


AT    MAR1ELUND  479 

nected  with  them,  she  had  been  led  to  believe,  for  her 
husband  had  bid  her  be  very  careful  of  them,  and 
would  not  allow  the  servant  girl  to  disturb  them.  The 
young  wife  did  not  know,  however,  that  her  husband 
guarded  them  so  careful  1)'  as  a  memento  of  a  noble 
deed. 

The  cloud  that  had  rested  upon  Holmer's  forehead, 
during  the  conversation  with  his  father-in-law,  soon 
disappeared  when  he  found  himself  in  the  midst  of 
the  happy  circle.  Not  long,  and  all  were  seated  at 
the  table  The  sweet  breads  were  sampled,  and  pro- 
nounced delicious,  though  the  observant  and  practical 
Louise  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  remark  that 
they  were  not  seasoned  quite  enough.  But  Marie  ex- 
plained with  a  smile  that  her  husband  required  no 
other  condiments  than  a  good  appetite  and  good  cheer. 

Nothing  was  wanting.  Laughter  and  jests  glad- 
dened the  young  and  brought  smiles  to  the  lips  of 
their  seniors.  Satisfied  with  their  day,  and  inwardly 
pleased  with  each  other,  these  good  people  separated, 
after  the  pastor  had  promised  to  come  as  often  as 
possible  to  visit  his  son-in  law's  school,  and,  above 
all,  to  make  an  effort  to  dispel  the  clouds  that  from 
various  directions  threatened  to  burst  over  the  school- 
master's head. 


PART  IV 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   MEETING 

"Well,  my  dear  Bergholm,  the  chamber  is  now  in 
readiness,  the  meal  chests  have  been  moved,  curtains 
put  up  at  the  windows  and  a  sofa  moved  in.  Do  you 
think  he  will  come  to-day?" 

It  was  Madame  Bergholm  who  uttered  these  words 
as  she  entered  from  the  kitchen,  red  and  sweaty  as 
usual  while  employed  in  household  duties. 

"Who  is  this  that  is  coming?"  asked  Holmer,  just 
arrived  at. the  parsonage  on  a  visit. 

"Ah!  Truly,  I  have  neglected  to  tell  you,"  said  the 
pastor, "that  we  are  to  have  a  visitor,  my  former  pupil, 
Maurits  Sterner." 

"The  young  author  who  wrote  the  remarkable  play 
that  attracted  so  much  attention  last  fall?" 

"The    same." 

"It  will,  indeed,  be  interesting  to  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  such  a  person,"  added  Holmer.  "But  it  is 
strange  that  whenever  his  name  is  mentioned,  by  you 
or  others,  it  seem  to  me  I  have  heard  it  before.  When 
or  where,  I  cannot  recall." 

The  reader  will  doubtless  remember  that  only  once, 
and  that  full}'  fourteen  years  before,  had  Maurits  and 
Holmer  met.  The  occasion  had  by  no  means  been 
forgotten  by  Holmer  but  the  name  of  the  boy  had  en- 
tirely escaped  his  memory.  Moreover,  it  did  not  occur 
to  him  that  the  boy  whom  he  had  regarded  as  a  child 

483 


484  THE    PLAY   OF    FATE 

of  poverty,  could  by  any  possibility  carve  his  way  to 
the  distinction  now  enjoyed  by  Maurits  Sterner.  As 
often  as  he  heard  the  name,  there  came  to  him  a  dim 
recollection,  but  his  thoughts  never  fell  upon  that 
pale  weeping  child  who,  under  his  own  eyes,  had  been 
so  unjustly  dealt  with  by  George  and  his  proud  and 
cruel  father. 

But  Pastor  Bergholm,  to  whom  Maurits  had  related 
the  incidents  connected  with  his  visit  to  Liljedahl, 
knew,  and  had  all  along  known,  how  it  came  that  the 
name  sounded  so  familiar  to  Holmer's  ears.  He  had 
said  nothing,  however,  anticipating  no  little  pleasure 
at  the  surprise  he  was  preparing  for  Holmer  in  bring- 
ing into  his  presence  the  bearer  of  the  name  in  per- 
son. 

The  pastor  was  much  inclined  to  producing  effects 
and  surprises.  "Would  they  recognize '  each  other? 
What  would  they  say  to  each  other?"  he  asked  him- 
self, and  laughed  heartily  at  the  thought.  "It  will 
be  worth  while  to  see  Holmer's  astonishment  when,  in 
the  distinguished  dramatic  author,  he  learns  to  know 
the  little,  weeping,  hungry  and  half  frozen  boy  to 
whom  he  once  manifested  such  genuine  sympathy." 
So  thought  the  pastor,  and  so  he  had  thought  for 
many  years.  "Maurits  will  surely  come  to  visit  us 
sometime,"  he  said  to  himself.  "Until  then  we  will 
withhold  the  disclosure." 

"I  have  no  idea  where  you  could  have  heard  the 
name  before  becoming  a  visitor  here.  Since  then,  you 
have  probably  heard  me  or  the  girls  mention  it  quite 
often.  That  you  have  seen  him  is  quite  probable,  be- 
cause he  was  already  a  resident  in  the  neighborhood 
when  we  moved  to  Liljedahl.  He  left,  however,  some 
months  later,  to  accept  a  position  that  I  had  the  good 
fortune  to  procure  for  him." 


THE    MEETING  485 

"You  are  more  than  fortunate,  father,  to  have  so 
much  honor  in  your  protege", "  resumed  Holmer.  "But," 
continued  he,  "changing  the  subject,  shall  we  not  give 
the  young  hero  something  of  a  reception?" 

It  was  on  a  Sunday  afternoon  that  this  conversation 
took  place.  The  door  to  the  hall  stood  open,  and  on 
the  spacious  porch,  sitting  on  benches,  were  gathered 
in  a  merry  group,  the  four  prett)'  daughters  of  the 
household,  engaged  in  a  lively  conversation,  mostly 
made  up  of  small  talk,  in  which  young  girls  find  so 
much  pleasure. 

"Do  you  know,  Marie,"  said  Lotta  in  confidential 
tones,  "that  Mr.  Sjoholm,  the  inspector  at  Odensvik, 
is  said  to  be  engaged  to  Hedda  Falkman?" 

"How  did  youv  learn  it!"  exclaimed  Louise  eagerly, 
for  the  good  Louise  herself  had  an  eye  in  that  direc- 
tion. 

"Well,  I  heard  it  from  Anna  H — , "  said  Ulla  with 
a  waggish  laugh,  for  she  knew  the  story  was  made  up 
of  whole  cloth  for  the  purpose  of  teasing  her  sister. 
"At  least,  Mr.  Sjoholm  danced  with  Hedda  four 
times  at  the  great  ball  given  by  the  Ehrenstams  last 
week. " 

"Has  there  been  a  ball  at  Liljedahl?"  inquired 
Marie  earnestly. 

"To  be  sure!  Did  you  not  know  it?  I  should  have 
thought,  moreover,  that  Miss  Isabella  would  have 
told  you,  inasmuch  as  you  were  not  invited." 

"Isabella  has  not  visited  us  for  fourteen  days,"  said 
Marie  whose  face  had  assumed  a  serious,  almost  sor- 
rowful expression.  "It  is  strange!  Holmer  and  I 
have  always  been  invited  heretofore  when  there  was 
anything  going  on  at  Liljedahl.  We  must  have  dis- 
pleased the  family  in  some  manner." 


486  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

The  young  woman  was  silent  the  whole  evening 
thereafter.  She  seemed  thoughtful  and  downcast 
without  knowing  just  why.  It  was  as  if  she  appre- 
hended some  misfortune. 

"Louise!  "  called  the  pastor  from  the  hall,  "go  up 
to  my  room  and  get  my  checker-board.  And  you, 
Ulla,  run  to  the  kitchen  and  ask  your  mamma  if  she 
has  not  a  mug  of  ale  to  give  us.  It  will  be  refreshing 
in  this  unbearable  heat." 

Both  commands  were  executed,  and  soon  the  pastor 
and  his  son-in-law  were  absorbed  in  an  innocent  game 
cf  draughts.  Meanwhile,  between  each  king  made  by 
either,  they  took  a  hearty  pull  at  the  ale  mug. 

The  young  women  resumed  their  places  on  the 
porch,  where  the  lively  conversation  was  renewed. 
Marie  did  not  join  in  it,  however,  but  sat  resting  her 
head  in  her  hands.  The  conversation  was  sudden!)' 
interrupted  by  the  rattle  of  an  approaching  carriage. 
Its  occupant  is  surely  coming  here,  thought  the  girls, 
and  in  an  instant  they  were  up,  and  had  fled  to  the 
parlor. 

"Papa!"  cried  all  in  one  voice,  "some  one  is  coming. 
It  must  be  Mr.  Sterner." 

"Sterner!"  exclaimed  the  pastor   with    unusual  ani 
mation,  dropping    his  checkers;    "I  must    see    if  it  be 
so." 

By  the  time  the  pastor  reached  the  porch,  the  con- 
veyance had  halted  in  the  yard.  A  young  man  alighted 
hastily  therefrom,  sprang  up  the  steps,  and  without 
a  word  threw  himself  into  the  pastor's  outstretched 
arms. 

"Maurits,  fill  mi  dilectissime!"  exclaimed  the  old 
man,  tears  of  joy  springing  to  his  eyes;  "again  I  see 
you  after  long  years  of  separation.  God  bless  you  for 
the  honor  you  have  done  your  old  teacher." 


THE    iMEETJNG  487 

Brushing  back  the  young  man's  dark  locks,  he 
pressed  a  kiss  on  his  high  white  forehead. 

"My  dear  teacher,  my  friend,  my  father!"  responded 
Maurits,  almost  overcome  by  his  feelings;  "what  had 
I  been  but  for  you!" 

"Hush!  hush!  Don't  speak  of  it,  my  son,"  said  the 
noble  pastor,  lifting  the  young  man's  head.  "Look 
around  you.  There  are  others  here  waiting  to  greet 
you. " 

Standing  in  the  door  was  the  good  housewife  wear- 
ing her  kindliest  smile. 

"Welcome,  my  dear  Maurits!"  said  she,  stretching 
forth  her  hand,  which  Maurits  grasped  and  conveyed 
respectfully  to  his  lips.  "You  will  permit  me  to  ad- 
dress you  as  of  old,  will  you  not,  though  you  have 
now  become  a  gentleman  of  renown?" 

"What  a  question!  "  answered  Maurits  in  tones  of 
mild  reproach.  "Do  I  deserve  this?  And  see  here," 
continued  he,  turning  to  the  group  of  girls,  "my  child- 
hood playmates;  but  how  you  have  grown!  Do  you 
recognize  me?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  answered  they,  "we  recognized  you 
at  once,  Maurits,  though  you  have  grown  greatly  since 
we  last  saw  you,  and  are  much  paler  than  eight  years 
ago." 

With  each,  there  was  a  friendly  handshake,  and 
Maurits  experienced,  at  this  instant,  much  greater 
pleasure  than  when  he  stood  on  the  stage  midst  the 
roars  of  approval  and  bombarded  with  bouquets  by 
the  fashion  and  beauty  of  the  great  city  of  Stockholm. 
He  was  soon  quite  at  home,  and  his  heart  beat  to  its 
utmost  in  gladness. 

In  that  burning  desert  called  the  world,  the  wan- 
derer would  faint  by  the  wayside,  however  beautiful 


488  THE     PLAY    OF    FATE 

the  mirage  presented  to  his  vision,  could  he  not  some- 
times refresh  himself  from  the  springs  of  love. 

'And  you,  Marie,"  said  Maurits, after  the  salutations 
were  over,  "you  have  married  since  we  last  saw  each 
other.  Let  me  congratulate  you  with  all  my  heart; 
you  have  secured  a  noble  man." 

As  Maurits  uttered  these  words  he  looked  up.  Be- 
fore him,  upon  the  threshold,  stood  a  middle-aged 
man  in  whose  face  he  could  read  the  deepest  surprise. 

It  were  impossible  not  to  remember  that  mild,  soul- 
ful countenance.  Obeying  his  heart  promptings,  and 
the  feeling  of  gratitude  that  filled  him,  Maurits  rushed 
forward,  and  grasped  the  hand  of  the  still  more  sur- 
prised Holmer. 

"O,  it  is  he!"  he  cried,  pressing  the  hand  to  his 
breast;  "I  cannot  be  wrong!  That  face,  those  gentle 
eyes,  yes,  I  remember  them/' 

"How  is  this,  Mr.  Sterner,"  interrupted  Holmer 
with  increased  surprise,  and  trying  to  collect  his 
thoughts;  "indeed,  have  we  met  before?" 

"Yes,  but  it  was  long  ago." 

Thoroughly  content  with  himself,  the  pastor  had 
stuffed  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  was  listening 
with  the  closest  attention  to  every  word  that  was  in- 
terchanged between  the  two  men. 

"Your  name,"  resumed  Holmer,  "has  truly  sounded 
quite  familiar  to  me,  but  I  have  been  wholly  unable  to 
recollect  when  or  where  I  made  your  acquaintance." 

"O,  you  will  surely  remember  the  poor,  little,  weep- 
ing boy  to  whose  succor  you  came  so  nobly  fourteen 
years  ago,  and  from  whom  you  bought  a  pair  of  East 
India  tea-cups,  after  the  other  pair  had  been  broken 
by  your  pupil,  George  Ehrenstam." 

"Are  you  he!"  burst    forth    Hoimer.      "Many    times 


THE    MEETING  489 

the  image  of  that  poor  child  has  flashed  before  me, 
but  I  had  forgotten  your  name,  and  could  not,  there- 
fore, connect  you  with  the  circumstance.  And  now, 
that  poor  boy,  then  a  dweller  in  a  miserable  hut,  has 
become  a  man  about  whom  the  world  is  talking.  You 
have  made  a  noble  struggle,  young  man,  and  I  honor 
you  therefor.  We  must  be  friends." 

'  With  .all  my  heart!"  said  Maurits,  shaking  Holm- 
er's  hand.  "You  have  always  occupied  a  warm  place 
in  my  breast.  I  have  always  remembered  with  the 
liveliest  gratitude  what  you  did  for  me." 

"What  did  I  do  for  you?"  returned  Holmer,  who 
would  fain  have  little  said  about  his  good  deeds.  "I 
bought  from  you  a  pair  of  beautiful  cups  which  are 
now  in  my  possession,  and  are  very  highly  prized  by 
me,  and  you  talk  about  gratitude." 

"Ah!  You  forget  under  what  circumstances  the 
purchase  was  made.  You  forget  that  I  had  a  mother 
who  was  on  the  point  of  death  from  hunger,  and  that 
you  probably  saved  both  her  life  and  mine.  You 
forget  that  you  paid  me  double  the  price  asked  by 
me  for  my  wares. " 

"Not  another  word  about  that  affair,"  interrupted 
Holmer  smiling.  "I  did  only  what  thousands  of  others 
would  have  done.  But  you  come  from  Upsala.  You 
must  give  me  tne  latest  news  from  there." 

The  whole  family  were  soon  seated  around  the  young 
Upsala  graduate,  and  Maurits  related  everything  he 
could  think  of  that  would  probably  interest  them. 
The  girls  asked  particularly  about  his  meeting  with 
the  Crown  Prince  and  his  consort  in  the  royal  lodge, 
a  matter  of  no  little  importance  to  them,  but  which 
Maurits  had  merely  mentioned  in  his  letter.  He  was 
obliged  to  relate  all  — what  the  princess  had  said, 


49°  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

how  she  was  dressed,  what  she  had  in  her  hair,  etc., 
etc.;  and  he  did  it  all  as  well  as  he  could  though,  to 
speak  the  truth,  he  had  little  knowledge  of  the  sub- 
ject. 

At  last  the  sun  sank,  and  after  they  had  partaken  of 
the  frugal  evening  meal,  each  went  his  way  except 
Maurits,  who,  in  response  to  the  pastor's  request, 
followed  him  to  his  work  room. 

"Well,  mi  file,"  began  the  pastor,  when  Maurits  was 
again  seated  in  the  corner  of  the  room  on  the  well 
used,  leather-covered  sofa,  and  the  old  man  had  rilled 
and  lighted  his  pipe;  "well,  my  son,  we  can  now 
converse  in  quiet  and  without  fear  of  interruption. 
There  are,  without  doubt,  a  number  of  events  in  your 
life  of  which  I  am  still  ignorant.  Will  you  now  open 
your  heart  to  your  old  teacher,  as  you  agreed,  and 
give  him  your  full  confidence?  He  promises  to  be 
worthy  of  it." 

"My  dear  friend!"  said  Maurits,  "you  shall  know 
all.  I  will  not  withhold  a  single  thought  from  you, 
a  single  action;  and,  God  be  praised,  I  have  nothing 
to  relate  at  which  I  need  blush.  What  I  have 
to  say  to  you  now,  I  thought  best  not  to  commit  to 
paper.  It  is  quite  possible  for  a  letter  to  fall  into  ir- 
responsible hands." 

"True,  my  boy!  But  let  me  hear  what  has  happened 
to  you  since  we  last  saw  each  other." 

"You  are  familiar  with  my  childhood  history," 
said  Maurits;  "I  have  informed  you  of  my  meeting 
with  Jacob  Kron,  and  through  you,  I  have  learned 
that  the  little  girl  whom  I  rescued  from  the  river  nine 
years  ago  is  the  daughter  of  Baron  Ehrenstam,  the  man 
who  was  so  cruel  and  unjust  to  me.  You  remember 
all  that?  ' 


THE    MEETING  4QI 

"Yes,  my  son,  but  what  has  this  to  do  with  subse- 
quent occurrences?" 

"Much,  as  you  shall  soon  learn." 

Maurits  began  an  account  of  what  had  transpired 
during  the  several  years  past:  Helena's  history  and 
his  own  pain  at  the  fall  to  which  he  was  an  innocent 
contributor;  his  father's  will,  the  alluring  title  and 
property  which  he  had  spurned  in  order  that  he  might 
enjoy  the  satisfaction  of  carving  out  his  own  fortune 
and,  above  all,  escape  bearing  the  name  borne  by  his 
mother's  murderer;  his  struggles,  his  privations  and, 
at  length,  his  victory.  All  this  he  laid  before  his  com- 
panion who,  with  mixed  feelings  of  surprise,  admira- 
tion and  transport,  listened  to  him. 

When  he  had  concluded,  the  pastor  rose  and  paced 
restlessly  back  and  forth  across  the  floor. 

"Maurits,"  said  he  at  last,  halting  suddenly,  and 
fixing  his  eyes  upon  him,  "have  you  the  documents 
with  you  that  establish  your  birthright?" 

"Yes,  here  they  are,"  answered  Maurits,  producing 
an  envelope  from  his  breast  pocket. 

The  old  man  grasped  the  package  eagerly,  went  to 
the  table,  and  devoured  the  contents  of  the  papers, 
after  which  he  returned  them,  and,  in  silence,  renewed 
his  pacing  back  and  forth. 

"Why  so  still?"  inquired  the  young  man.  "You  do 
not  approve  my  action,  may  be." 

The  pastor  paused.  "Approve!"  he  exclaimed  ear- 
nestly, "no,  I  admire  you.  I  say  to  you,  my  boy,  ! 
could  not  speak,  unable  to  find  words  with  which  to 
express  my  feelings." 

"Ah!  my  dear  teacher,  how  glad  I  am  that  you 
think  well  of  my  actions." 

"Maurits,"  resumed  the  pastor,  great  tears  coursing 


4Q2  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

down  his  furrowed  cheeks,  "come  to  my  arms,  my  son! 
O,  why  are  you  not  my  son!  I  love  you,  however, 
even  more  than  though  you  were.  Your  magnanimity, 
your  noble  self-sacrifice,  the  victory  you  have  achieved, 
I  prize  higher  than  all  the  praise  that  the  world  has 
attached  to  the  name  you  now  bear,  the  name  I  gave 
you,"  added  he  smiling.  "But  how  wonderful  are  the 
ways  of  providence  in  this  world.  That  you  and  your 
mother  should  live  in  a  hut  upon  your  rich  brother's 
possessions." 

"Yes,  and  that  this  brother  should  finally  deprive  me 
of  her  whom  I  loved  over  all  else  on  earth.  One  may 
well  term  it  a  play  of  fate." 

"Not  so,  my  son,"  said  the  pastor  seriously.  "Such 
an  appellation  can  be  attached  to  it  only  by  the 
thoughtless,  or  one  committed  to  the  theories  of  the 
fatalist.  Fate  does  not  play  with  us,  my  son.  It  is 
God  who  leads  us,  although  his  ways  are  sometimes 
incomprehensible.  And  how  wonderfully  he  has  pre- 
served you,  Maurits.  You  ought  at  this  moment  to 
count  yourself  most  fortunate  among  the  fortunate. 
You  are  young,  free,  and,  by  means  of  your  genius  and 
knowledge,  independent.  You  have  gained  the  world's 
esteem  and  praise.  You  are,  notwithstanding  you 
have  renounced  its  advantages,  heir  to  an  illustrious 
name  and  a  large  fortune,  for  I  know  that  Count 
Stjernekrantz  left  a  great  deal  that  does  not  attach 
to  the  fief.  In  truth,  Maurits,  if  anyone  has  prom- 
ise of  a  smiling  future,  it  is  you." 

"Ah,  my  good  teacher,  who  is  ever  happy  upon 
this  earth?  Are  there  not,  in  the  lives  of  all,  many 
desires,  ends,  whose  realization  we  vainly  seek;  many 
struggles  in  which  we  are  overcome;  many  sorrows, 
many  troubles  from  which  we  cannot  by  any  possibility 


THE    MEETING  493 

escape?  I  have  been  fortunate,  I  admit,  but  there 
have  been  times  also  when  I  have  felt  myself  most 
unfortunate." 

"But  that  is  unreasonable,  Maurits.  What  really 
can  befall  you?  " 

"I  know  not  myself  but  it  has  sometimes  seemed  to 
me  that  I  am  threatened  with  the  most  cruel  suffer- 
ings. My  unhappiness  has  had  its  origin,  probably, 
in  my  inability  to  believe  my  happiness.  There  is  a 
specter  standing  between  me  and  the  pleasure  of  the 
present,  and  this  specter  is  the  future." 

'Folly!  Maurits,  do  not  cross  a  bridge  before  you 
get  to  it,  as  some  one  said.  But  what  do  your  gloomy 
forebodings  say  to  you  of  the  future?" 

"They  whisper  in  my  ears,  'Youth,  you  lie  now  as  a 
child  with  a  flower  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice.  Hith- 
erto your  passions  have  slumbered.  Woe  to  you  if 
some  day  they  are  called  to  life.'  You  must  admit 
that  such  thoughts  are  terrible,  father  " 

"But  you  must  control  your  passions  with  under- 
standing, Maurits.  Thus  far  you  have  succeeded." 

'Thus  far,  yes,  for  the  passions  I  have  had  to  keep 
in  check  have  been  the  sensual  only  and  such  pas- 
sions it  has  been  easy  for  me  to  subdue.  To  this,  my 
strength  has  been  sufficient,  but  I  tell  you,  my  dear 
friend,  that  if  I  am  sometime  brought  under  the  in- 
fluence of  that  love  that  belongs  half  to  earth,  half  to 
heaven;  if  I  meet  a  woman  who  comes  up  to  the 
ideal  of  my  dreams  (for  even  I  dream  at  times)  then 
woe  is  me  if  my  love  meets  with  no  response.  Though 
I  am  an  author,  ambition  is  yet  not  powerful  enough 
to  overcome  all  other  passions.  I  have  burned  with 
ambition,  ambition  to  carve  out  my  future,  and  it  is 
already  accomplished.  The  commendation  of  the 


494  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

world  and  immortality  have  never  possessed  enough 
allurement  to  be  worth  the  struggle  necessary  to  their 
attainment.  The  passion  ambition,  is,  therefore,  not 
strong  enough  to  outweigh  that  of  love,  to  offer  me 
a  refuge  in  the  event  of  an  unrequited  love.  I  must 
tell  you,  my  teacher,  I  have  many  times  felt  a  yearn- 
ing in  my  heart,  a  longing,  a  nameless  longing,  an 
emptiness,  that  no  pleasure,  no  employment,  is  suffi- 
cient to  satisfy.  My  temperament  is  sanguine,  though 
I  have  compelled  myself  into  the  contemplative." 

"When  the  opportunity  comes  for  you  to  make  your 
choice,"  interrupted  the  pastor,  "let  us  hope  it  will 
be  a  happy  one.  But,  one  thing  more :  Have  you 
seen  Isabella  Ehrenstam  since  you  rescued  her  from 
death  in  the  river?" 

'No,  I  can't  say  that  I  have  seen  her,  for,  though 
she  was  at  the  theater  when  my  piece  was  played,  she 
sat  so  that  I  could  not  see  her  face.  But  think  you 
she  knows  it  was  I  that — " 

"Certainly  not,"  interposed  the  pastor,  "for  she  has 
not  learned  it  from  her  proud  parents,  and  I  have  never 
breathed  it  to  any  one,  inasmuch  as  you  so  nobly 
requested  that  it  should  not  be  made  public.  Miss 
Ehrenstam,  therefore,  does  not  know  the  name  of  her 
rescuer,  and  I  presume  that  neither  the  baron  nor  the 
baroness  has  remembered  it.  They  were  too  much  in- 
censed over  your  refusal  to  accept  the  reward  ever  to 
concern  themselves  further  about  you.  It  was  a  peas- 
ant boy  who  saved  their  child,  that  is  all  they  know." 

"Good!"  said  Maurits;    "that  is  gratifying." 

"But  here  we  sit  chattering,"  resumed  the  pastor, 
"and  I,  in  my  selfishness,  forget  that  you  must  be 
tired  after  your  journey.  Good  night,  therefore,  my 
son.  In  the  morning  we  will  resume  our  conversa- 


THE    MEETING  495 

tion.  Your  room  is  directly  opposite  mine.  You 
know  the  little  guest  chamber?" 

Maurits  pressed  the  old  man's  hand,  lighted  his 
candle  and  departed. 

When  he  had  gone,  the  pastor  remained  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  buried  in  deep  thought. 
Maurits'  narrative  had  given  him  food  for  the  most 
serious  reflections. 

"That  youth,"  said  the  pastor  to  himself,  "is  the 
noblest  representative  of  the  young  and  newly  awak- 
ened ideas  that  shall  set  the  world  ablaze  and  shake 
to  their  foundations  the  old  prejudices.  Few,  perhaps 
none,  possess  such  strength  as  his.  To  renounce  the 
advantages  of  birth  and  riches,  when  he  need  only 
stretch  forth  his  hand  to  grasp  them;  to  have  a  mind 
exalted  enough  to  look  lightly  upon  the  title  ol  count, 
enough  courage  to  battle  alone  through  life  his  thorny 
way  against  poverty  when  he  need  say  only  a  word  to 
become  possessor  of  more  than  plenty.  In  truth,  that 
is  greatness,  that  is  victory,  worthy  a  Cato.  Yes,"  con- 
tinued the  pastor  with  his  monologue,  "this  youth  with 
the  weapons  of  genius  will  be  one  of  the  most  valiant 
promulgators  of  those  ideas.  He  will  enlist  the 
masses  in  opposition  to  the  prevailing  opinions  against 
ignorance  and  darkness.  He  will  become  a  knight 
bearing  the  torch  of  intelligence,  provided— 

The  pastor  did  not  express  his  thought.  Slowly 
he  placed  his  pipe  upon  the  table,  went  to  the  book- 
shelf and  took  down  his  Bible,  in  which  he  always 
read  a  chapter  every  evening  before  he  retired  to  rest. 

This  time  his  prayer  was  most  earnest,  warmer  than 
usual.  He  prayed  for  the  youth  who  had  been  his 
pupil,  now  his  guest. 


CHAPTER    II 

REMINISCENCES 

It  was  the  evening  following  the  occurrences  related 
in  the  preceding  chapter. 

The  pastor's  family  was  assembled  on  the  front 
porch.  The  same  persons  were  present  as  on  the 
evening  before,  except  Holmer,  who  was  at  home, 
busied  with  his  pupils.  Marie,  his  young  wife,  was  of 
the  party,  however. 

An  elegant  traveling  carriage  dashed  by  the  parson- 
age, and  soon  disappeared  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

"Whose  carriage  was  that?"  asked  Maurits. 

"It  was  from  Liljedahl,"  answered  Marie.  "The 
occupants  are  probably  on  their  way  to  Count  S— 's, 
at  Broby,  where  they  intend  to  spend  a  few  days." 

"How  fortunate,"  said  Maurits.  "I  can  go  while 
they  are  away  and  visit  the  beautiful  estate.  I  have 
been  there  before,  I  remember,  but  that  was  a  long 
time  since.  They  have  a  most  beautiful  park,  I  am 
told." 

"A  more  than  beautiful  one,"  said  Marie.  "You 
ought  surely  to  visit  it,  for  it  is  well  worth  seeing. 
It  is  grandly  laid  out,  and  there  are  arbors,  groves, 
beautiful  walks,  babbling  brooks  and  little  lakes  in 
great  number.  If  you  visit  the  place,  give  the  gar- 
dener something,  and  he  will,  doubtless,  admit  you 
to  the  garden  which  is  quite  as  beautiful  as  the  park. 

496 


REMINISCENCES  497 

In  the  greenhouse,  you  may  easily  fancy   yourself  un- 
der a  tropical  sky." 

"I  will  go  at  once,"  said  Maurits  rising.  "I  have 
not  yet  visited  the  spot  were  my  mother's  hut  stood. 
It  has  given  place,  I  presume,  to  an  Italian  villa. 
Count  Stjernekrantz  had  planned  to  build  one  before 
I  left." 

"But  he  gave  up  the  scheme,"  said  the  pastor.  "I 
don't  know  just  why.  Your  mother's  hut  is  still 
standing. "' 

"O,  my  God!     What  do  you  tell  me!"    exclaimed 
Maurits.      "And  who  is  its  present  occupant?" 

"No  one.  It  has  long  been  deserted,  and  a  new 
cottage  has  been  erected  not  far  therefrom.  It  is  fast 
falling  to  decay,  however." 

"Ah!  But  I  would  see  it  again,"  cried  Maurits. 
"Let  no  one  follow  me,  I  wish  to  be  alone." 

Every  tree,  every  bush  by  the  wayside  was  an 
acquaintance  of  his  childhood.  The  leaves  stirred  by 
the  evening  breeze  whispered  recollections  of  days 
gone  by,  a»d  the  wavelets  in  the  deep  blue  lake,  glis- 
tening in  the  sunshine,  smiled  him  glad  welcome. 
The  tree  under  which  he  sat  and  read  "Semiramis;" 
the  mill  by  whose  wheel  he  came  so  near  being 
crushed;  the  bridge  from  which  Isabella  plunged  into 
the  stream  below— all  these  objects  were  brough 
again  to  his  observation,  causing  the  chords  of  mem 
ory  to  vibrate  vigorously.  The  young  man  wandered 
dreamily  along,  reaching,  at  last,  the  path  leading  to 
his  mother's  hut,  the  gray  walls  of  which  were  now 
visible  through  the  leaves.  Trembling  with  emotion, 
Maurits  approached  the  deserted  dwelling.  The  door 
stood  open.  The  windows  had  been  taken  away,  and 
the  wind  thus  had  full  play  among  the  naked  walls. 


498  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

A  feeling  of  veneration  took  possession  of  him  as 
he  entered  the  single  room  of  the  hut;  the  room  in 
which  he  had  sat  so  often  by  the  side  of  his  mother, 
mingling  his  tears  with  hers;  she  who  loved  him  as 
never  mother  loved  before.  The  room  was  empty,  the 
fireplace  half  torn  down,  and  the  plaster  wholly  gone 
from  the  ceiling.  An  old  rotten  chair,  with  but  three 
legs  remaining,  was  the  only  article  of  furniture  now 
left.  No  one  had  thought  it  worth  while  to  carry 
'it  away.  Maurits  recognized  it  at  once.  It  was  an 
old  acquaintance  that  spoke  the  language  of  reminis- 
cences; that  whispered  sweet  words  of  its  former 
owner.  Maurits  neared  the  dear  article,  tears  dimming 
his  eyes,  and  pressed  a  kiss  upon  its  arm.  Inspecting 
it  closely,  he  observed  an  A  and  an  £  cut  into  it  with 
a  knife,  and  just  below  these  an  M  and  an  S,  these 
all  surrounded  by  a  ring  intended  to  represent  a 
wreath.  Maurits  wept  afresh  as  he  contemplated 
his  own  childish  handiwork.  He  did  not  attempt  to 
sit  on  the  chair,  it  was  too  holy,  but  spreading  his 
handkerchief  on  the  hearthstone,  he  there  Seated  him- 
self. 

"There  stood  her  bed,"  said  Maurits  to  himself; 
"there  is  her  bureau,  where  she  preserved  the  few 
mementoes  of  him,  her  much  loved  husband.  Here 
was  her  work-table  where  she  sat  that  terrible  night, 
I  shall  never  forget  it,  when  she  became  blind. 
Holy  spirit!"  continued  he,  after  a  short  pause,  "surely 
you  are  hovering  over  your  son  at  this  instant.  In- 
visible to  each  other,  our  souls  meet,  nevertheless,  at 
the  point  where  time  borders  on  eternity.  Nearer  to 
me  you  cannot  come,  nearer  to  you  I  cannot  go,  there- 
fore we  meet  on  the  border.  'Love  beareth  all  things, 
hopeth  all  things,  enduretn  all  things,'  says  Paul. 


REMINISCENCES  499 

How  beautifully  you  carried  out,  during  your  life,  in 
double  measure,  as  wife  and  mother,  the  great  apos- 
tle's words.  Your  life  was  a  martyrdom,  and  your 
dying  words  confirmed  your  faith,  blessing  with  pale 
lips  your  murderer.  And  I  have  dared  to  hate,  to 
curse,  to  complain;  but  thanks  to  your  memory, 
mother,  my  hate  has  been  changed  to  love,  my  curses 
to  blessings,  my  grumblings  to  submissiveness.  My 
dark  doubts,  the  tormentors  of  my  childhood  and  my 
youth,  have  been  dispersed  by  the  recollection  of  your 
death,  by  the  thought  of  what  you  suffered  and 
forgave,  strengthened  by  your  faith;  and  when  in  dark 
hours  they  now  sometimes  follow  me,  when  I  look- 
back  upon  my  illusions  crushed,  the  injustice  suffered, 
and  the  spirit  of  bitterness  rises  within  me,  it  requires 
but  a  thought  of  you,  my  mother,  to  drive  away  the 
demon." 

Maurits  ceased,  and  rose  from  his  seat.  Yet  another 
glance  he  cast  around  the  deserted  room,  at  the  naked 
walls,  the  blackened  roof,  then  quitted  the  place 
sacred  to  the  memory  of  earlier  days. 


CHAPTER    III 

THE     AFFINITIES 

When  Maurits,  resuming  his  walk,  reached  the  lane 
leading  to  Liljedahl,  he  turned  to  the  left  and  followed 
the  shady  path  toward  the  stately  mansion  whose 
white  facade  glistened  through  the  leaves.  Thus  far 
he  had  met  no  one,  but  upon  nearing  the  dwelling, 
he  encountered  an  elderly  man  carrying  a  water  can 
in  his  hand. 

"My  friend,  '  said  Maurits,  "are  you  the  gardener 
here?" 

"Rightly  guessed,  sir." 

"Good!  I  am  aware  that  the  master  is  absent,  but 
will  you  allow  me  to  visit  the  garden  and  park?" 

"Willingly,  though  I  have  no  time  to  accompany 
you.  If  you  will  pass  through  yonder  gate,  it  will 
bring  you  to  the  garden.  At  the  end  thereof  is  another 
gate  opening  into  the  park.  Your  name,  if  you  please, 
sir.  It  is  my  custom  to  write  down  the  names  of  all 
who  visit  Liljedahl  on  such  errands  as  yours." 

Maurits  gave  his  name. 

The  gardener  continued  his  way,  and  Maurits  soon 
reached  the  designated  gate,  and  passed  through  into 
the  garden. 

Our  pen  fails  us  when  we  would  attempt  to  describe 
the  beauties  and  grandeur  of  the  place.  Everything 
was  enchanting,  like  the  garden  of  Haroun  el  Raschid 
in  the  Arabian  nights.  On  every  hand  the  beautiful 

500 


THE   AFFINITIES  50! 

was  blended  Avith  the  romantic,  and  art  with  nature 
in  all  her  freedom  and  wildness.  Here  was  a  large 
bed  of  fragrant  flowers;  there  a  Chinese  pagoda;  here 
a  Venus  with  the  graces  hewn  from  white  marble, 
guarding  a  basin  into  which  a  fountain  rained  its 
crystal  drops,  and  there  again,  from  between  huge 
moss-grown  rocks,  piled  picturesquely  upon  each 
other,  gurgled  a  spring  of  pure,  cold  water.  It  was,  as 
Marie  had  declared  it,  heavenly. 

When  Maurits  had  inspected  the  garden  to  his  sat- 
isfaction, he  bent  his  way  toward  the  small  gate  open- 
ing into  the  park. 

The  slope  of  the  park  toward  the  Wener,  whose 
banks  marked  its  further  boundary,  was,  if  possible, 
even  more  beautiful,  more  perfect  in  its  character, 
than  the  garden.  The  trees  were,  for  the  most  part, 
tall  oaks  interspersed  here  and  there  with  birch  and 
alder.  The  park  itself  was  of  considerable  magnitude, 
divided  by  a  river  from  which  a  number  of  canals  had 
been  dug,  leading  like  silver  threads  in  all  directions, 
forming  here  and  there  little  islands  reached  by  pretty 
rustic  bridges,  and  upon  which  had  been  constructed 
shady  arbors  whose  foliage  was  so  dense  that  neither 
sunshine  nor  cloud  could  penetrate. 

Maurits  had  wandered  around  this  park  for  some 
time,  almost  fancying  himself  in  an  Eden,  and  was 
on  the  point  of  returning,  for  the  sun  was  fast  ap- 
proaching the  western  horizon,  when  his  attention 
was  attracted  by  a  pretty  little  island  which  had  thus 
far  escaped  his  notice,  and  upon  which  he  detected 
an  arbor  apparently  more  beautiful  than  any  he  had 
yet  visited. 

"I  have  still  sufficient  time  to  visit  this  place," 
thought  he,  and  bent  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  the 


5O2  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

island,    "but  I   must  go  home  then,     that  is  certain." 

He  passed  over  the  little  bridge,  neared  the  arbor, 
and  pushed  aside  the  bushes  hanging  before  the  en- 
trance, intending  to  enter  and  rest  a  few  minutes  on 
the  soft  moss  bench  sure  to  be  found  within.  But 
his  eyes  had  hardly  penetrated  the  semi-gloom  when 
he  was  brought  to  a  standstill  as  if  suddenly  rooted 
to  the  spot.  He  knew  not  whether  he  was  awake  or 
dreaming.  This  sight  met  his  astonished  gaze: 

Half  reclining  on  the  moss  bench,  her  head  resting 
on  her  hand,  was  a  young  woman  more  beautiful  than 
the  Houris  of  the  Moslem's  paradise.  Her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  pages  of  a  book  lying  before  her,  which 
she  seemed  to  be  reading. 

It  was  as  if  a  burden  of  lead  held  Maurits  fast  -to 
the  spot.  Delicacy  inclined  him  to  retire  as  quietly 
and  unobserved  as  he  had  come,  but  another  feeling, 
more  powerful,  held  him  as  if  fettered  by  invisible 
chains.  Speechless,  immovable,  hardly  daring  to  draw 
his  breath,  he  stood  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
beautiful  object  which  seemed  to  him  like  a  vision 
from  dream-land  and  which  he  was  afraid  he  might, 
in  the  next  instant,  see  dissolve  and  vanish.  From 
where  he  stood  he  was  afforded  the  best  of  opportuni- 
ties to  see  her,  except  her  eyes  which  remained  fixed 
upon  the  pages  of  the  book. 

Her  long,  raven  black  hair  hung  loosely  over  her 
lily-white  shoulders;  her  figure,  slender,  but  perfectly 
formed,  was  worthy  a  Canova's  chisel,  and  upon  her 
sweet  coral  lips  could  be  distinguished  a  half  mourn- 
ful smile  that  lent  to  the  idealistic,  beautiful  features 
an  expression  such  as  Maurits  had  never  before  seen 
on  the  face  of  any  woman,  causing  his  heart  to  pul- 
sate with  unusual  violence.  This  expression  revealed 


THE  AFFINITIES  503 

the  enthusiast,  the  dreamer,  a  soul  akin  to  his  own, 
and  this  charmed  him  much  more  than  the  symmetry 
cf  form  and  feature,  surpassingly  beautiful  though 
they  were. 

Isabella,  for  it  was  she,  was  reading  Jean  Paul's 
"Titan."  Her  soul  was  wandering  at  the  instant  with 
Albano  along  the  terraces  of  Isola  Bella.  She  saw  the 
sun  rise  from  the  bosom  of  JLake  Maggiore,  saw  the 
snow-tipped  peaks  of  the  Alps  glisten  in  its  rays,  and 
the  picture  the  poet  would  portray  loomed  up  before 
her  inner  eyes. 

"O  Albano!"  murmured  the  young  woman  softly, 
"where  shall  I  find  your  counterpart!"  At  this  instant 
she  looked  up  and  her  glance  met  that  of  Maurits. 
For  a  second  they  contemplated  each  other.  The 
blood  rushed  to  her  cheeks.  Nimble  as  a  gazelle, 
she  sprang  from  her  seat,  and  her  dark  eyes  sank  to 
the  ground.  That  glance,  though  quick  as  lightning, 
had  sealed  the  fate  of  both.  Two  congenial  souls 
had  met,  and  both  realized  it  at  the  same  instant, 
for  their  pulses  flew  as  if  impelled  by  some  electric 
force. 

Maurits  did  not  flee.  He  guessed,  he  knew  intui- 
tively who  the  young  woman  was. 

"It  is  she,"  said  he  in  a  low  voice,  and  to  himself, 
yet  loud  enough  to  be  heard,  "it  is  Isabella  Ehren- 
stam. " 

The  young  girl  looked  up  again,  this  time  with  sur- 
prise and  wounded  feelings  easily  read  in  her  eyes. 

"Sir,"  said  she,  a  little  discomposed,  "you  are  very 
bold.  Who  are  you?" 

"My  dear  miss,"  said  Maurits,  bowing,  "you  will 
surely  overlook  my  presumption.  My  coming  was 
quite  accidental,  and  I  was  not  aware  that  you  were 


504  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

here  until  your  presence  chained  me  to  the  ground. 
Something  told  me  at  once  who  you  were,  though  it 
is  Icng,  very  long,  since  I  saw  you  last." 

"Indeed!"  said  Isabella,  with  augmented  surprise, 
"have  we  ever  seen  each  other  before?  Your  counte- 
nance seems  familiar  to  me,  but  I  cannot  recall  a 
meeting." 

"Nevertheless,  my  lady,"  interrupted  Maurits,  ''I 
am  the  possessor  of  a  talisman  that  will,  perhaps,  re- 
fresh your  memory. " 

"Of  what  do  you  speak!"  cried  Isabella. 

"This,"  said  Maurits,  unfastening  from  his  neck, 
and  handing  to  the  young  woman,  the  ornament  that 
formerly  belonged  to  her,  and  that  Maurits  had  for  so 
many  years  carried  next  his  breast. 

Isabella  glanced  at  it. 

"My  God!  "  she  burst  forth,  "I  have  seen  this  orna- 
ment before.  I  wore  it  as  a  child,  but  lost  it.  I  am 
not  sure  just  where.  How  did  it  come  into  your 
possession?" 

"It  became  fastened  to  my  clothes  when  I  was  strug- 
gling in  the  water,  holding  in  my  arms  a  little  girl 
whom  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  rescue  when  on  the 
point  of  drowning." 

"And  I  was  the  girl!"  cried  Isabella,  rushing  toward 
the  young  man.  "O,  I  remember  it  well!" 

"Yes,  you  were  the  girl. " 

"We  are  then,  old  acquaintances,"  said  Isabella 
with  a  pretty  smile,  stretching  forth  her  hand.  "You 
saved  my  life,  but  when  it  comes  upon  me  that  I  am 
ignorant  of  your  name,  I  blush  for  my  ungratefulness. 
My  parents,  whom  I  have  often  asked,  were  unable 
to  enlighten  me  upon  the  subject;  for  you  went  your 
way,  they  informed  me,  without  making  your  name 


THE   AFFINITIES  505 

known,  and  refused  to  accept  any  reward  for  your 
noble  deed." 

"O,  yes,"  said  Maurits,  with  a  scarcely  perceptible 
smile,  'it  is  true  I  would  not  accept  the  few  shillings 
your  father  proffered  me." 

"And  I  remember  that  I  endeavored  to  detain  you, 
but  that  you  pushed  me  gently  aside,  and  ran  away. " 

"Yes,  that  is  true  also." 

"And  you  have  never  since  spoken  to  either  of  my 
parents?  " 

"Never. " 

''You  have  through  all  these  years  declined  the  grat- 
itude of  my  parents  and  myself?  Though  I  have  not 
known  your  name,  I  have  always  given  you  place  in 
my  prayers. " 

"You  have  once  heard  me  speak  my  name,  however, 
and  I  am  quite  certain  that  you  have  not  forgotten  it." 

"When  and  where!"  exclaimed  Isabella  in  surprise. 

"It  was  on  the  same  occasion  upon  which  you  gave 
me  this-  flower,"  answered  Maurits,  smiling,  as  he 
took  from  his  pocket  book  a  rose  that  he  had  seen 
Isabella  throw  to  the  stage  on  the  evening  that  his 
play  was  presented,  and  which  he  had  picked  up  and 
preserved. 

Isabella's  curiosity  was  roused  to  the  utmost. 

"You  jest,  sir,"  said  she,  "I  have  never  seen  you 
until  now  except  on  the  occasion  of  your  rescuing  me 
from  the  water,  and  I  gave  you  no  rose  then,  I  am 
sure.  Explain  yourself. " 

"This  rose,"  resumed  Maurits,  "you  threw  to  the 
stage  of  the  royal  theater  of  Stockholm  on  the  even- 
ing of  September  2oth  of  last  year  when  a  young  au- 
thor and  a  young  actress  made  their  first  appearance 
before  the  public.'' 


5c6  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"What!"  interrupted  Isabella  earnestly,  "is  it  possi- 
ble that  you  are  that  author?" 

"I  am,  and  I  must  thank  you  for  your  expression 
of  approval." 

"O,  I  know  your  name  then,  Mr.  Sterner,"  said 
Isabella  with  flashing  eyes.  "How  many  times  I  have 
longed  to  make  your  acquaintance.  Your  genius 
charmed  me.  I  must  tell  you  that  for  many  weeks 
my  dreams  were  filled  with  'The  Amber  Heart.'  But 
then,  — "  interrupting  herself,  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  the 
ornament  which  she  held  in  her  hand,  'The  Amber 
Heart' — is  there  any  connection  between  it  and — ?" 

"The  one  you  hold  in  your  hand,"  interrupted  Mau- 
rits.  "Not  other  than  that  it  gave  title  to  my  play, 
as  1  named  my  heroine  after  you." 

Maurits  would  not    wound     Isabella's  feelings    with 
an  arraignment  of  her  father,   wherefore,  he  was  care 
ful  not  to  reveal  the  history  of  the  trinket. 

"Named  after  me!"  cried  Isabella,  blushing;  "you 
have  then  kept  in  your  mind  all  through,  Mr.  Sterner, 
the  little  girl  whom  you  rescued  from  a  watery  grave?" 

"Always. " 

"And  you  have  worn  this  insignificant  trinket  next 
your  heart  all  these  years?" 

"Yes,  without  so  much  as  once  removing  it." 

The  young  woman  paused  in  embarrassment,  and 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  ground.  Maurits  contemplated 
her  in  silence. 

What  were  their  thoughts  at  this  instant? 

"Truly,  sir,"  resumed  Isabella  merrily,  "you  have 
presented  yourself  here  in  a  very  unusual  manner, 
introducing  yourself  to  a  young  woman  not  only  as 
her  rescuer  fro*n  death,  but  also  as  a  genius  and  an 
author  known  and  much  ad-mired  by  her.  It  is  enough, 
more  than  enough,  to  arouse  her  interest." 


THE  AFFINITIES  507 

"I  have  not  presented  myself  thus,  let  me  assure 
you,  for  the  purpose  of  exciting  your  interest.  I 
sought  only  tc  offer  a  plausible  excuse  for  my  bold- 
ness in  daring  to  address  you.  I  hoped  for  your  in- 
dulgence. " 

"O,  sir,  how  can  you  speak  of  indulgence?  Do  I 
not  owe  you  my  life?" 

'I  should  never  have  mentioned  the  fact  of  our 
early  meeting  had  I  not  felt  it  my  duty  to  return  to 
you  the  amber  heart  which  I  have  preserved  so  many 
years,  cherishing  the  hope  that  I  might  some  day  meet 
you  and  restore  it." 

"You  wish  me  to  keep  it  then?"  inquired  the  young 
woman. 

"Why  not?      It  belongs  to  you." 

'  O,  how  much  I  thank  you!  I  will  keep  it  as  a 
memento  of  my  danger,  and  my  noble  rescuer;  a  me- 
mento of  a  day  I  can  never  forget." 

Ma-urits  bowed  in  silence. 

"But  tell  me,"  continued  Isabella,  "are  you  here  as 
a  wayfarer,  or  are  you  visiting  in  the  neighborhood?" 

"I  am  the  guest  of  my  former  teacher,  Pastor  Berg- 
holm,"  answered  Maurits. 

Up  to  this  time,  the  actors  in  this  scene  had  re- 
mained standing.  Isabella  now  seated  herself  on  the 
moss  bench,  and  invited  Maurits  to  a  place  at  her 
side.  The  young  man  obeyed. 

'How  long  do  you  intend  to  remain  with  the  good 
pastor?"  inquired  Isabella. 

"It  is  uncertain.      A  month  or  so  perhaps." 

"My  parents  are  absent  just  now,"  resumed  Isabella, 
"I  cannot,  therefore,  invite  you  to  accompany  me 
home,  but  I  hope,  and  it  is  my  earnest  desire,  that 
you  will  honor  us  with  a  visit  soon.  Papa  and  mamma 


5O3  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE       • 

are  expected  home  to-morrow  evening.  You  must 
come  the  day  after.  May  I  look  for  you?" 

"I  will  do  myself  the  honor  if  you  can  answer  for 
one  thing,"  said  Maurits,  smiling. 

"And  it  is  what?  " 

'That  I  may  escape  all  expressions  of  gratitude  for 
the  service  it  was  my  good  fortune  to  render  you  when 
a  child.  It  is  my  wish  that  not  a  word  be  said  about 
it.  Will  you  promise  me  this,  Miss  Isabella?" 

"That  is  a  strange  request,"  was  the  answer.  "How- 
ever, if  we  may  not  see  you  short  of  these  conditions, 
I  must  consent. " 

"Thank  you." 

"Now  I  have  something  to  ask  from  you,  "said  Isa- 
bella. "I  wish  you  to  satisfy  my  curiosity,  or,  better 
expressed  perhaps,  the  interest  you  arouse  in  me. 
Tell  me  something  of  your  life.  I  would  know  more 
of  one  who,  from  a  peasant  hut  and  the  utmost  pov- 
erty, has  fought  his  way  up  to  the  topmost  round  of 
fame;  for  you  must  know,  Mr.  Sterner,  that  I  recog- 
nize no  other  heights  than  those  to  which  science,  art 
and  virtue  lead,  and  to  these  you  have  attained." 

'Not  at  all,  my  dear  miss,"  said  Maurits  blushing. 
"I  have  not  attained  them,  I  have  only  struggled 
weakly  to  reach  them.  But  on  this  point,"  added  he 
smiling,  "if  I  may  credit  report,  you  have  ventured 
into  the  same  paths,  searching  for  the  same  objects. 
We  stand  on  an  equality  with  each  other,  psrhaps. " 

"Ah,  no!"  said  Isabella,  "you  over-rate  my  acquire- 
ments very  much.  True,  I  love  the  beautiful.  To 
me  success  and  art  are  much  more  to  be  prized  than 
riches  or  the  lustre  of  birth.  To  me  also  nobility 
of  soul  is  the  only  true  nobility,  but  notwithstanding 
all  my  eager  efforts,  I  know  almost  nothing  I  am 


THE   AFFINITIES  509 

only  a  weak  woman  who  has  skimmed  over  much,  ab- 
sorbed a  little.  I  am  not  a  genius  such  as  you,  Mr. 
Sterner.  We  are  wandering  from  our  subject,  how- 
ever. " 

"You  wished  to  hear  something  of  my  early  life?" 

"Yes,  if  I  do  not  presume  too  much." 

"You  have  been  informed  that  the  boy  who  rescued 
you  from  the  river  was  nothing  more  than  an  ignorant 
peasant  lad.  Is  it  not  so?" 

"Yes,"  responded  Isabella,  blushing  and  embarrassed, 
"so  I  was  informed.  I  was  never  able  to  get  any 
other  answer  to  my  inquiries  concerning  you  than 
that  it  was  a  peasant  boy  who  rescued  me,  and  that 
nothing  had  been  heard  about  him  since.  I  was  in- 
formed also  that  diligent  search  had  been  made,  but 
without  result. " 

"It  was  your  parents  who  answered  you  thus?" 
asked  Maurits  in  a  tone  whose  bitterness  Isabella 
could  not  fail  to  see. 

Isabella  now  understood  all.  With  a  knowledge  of 
her  father's  severe  and  tyrannical  temper,  she  saw 
readily  that  Maurits  had  wounded  his  pride,  and  that 
the  baron  had  treated  his  daughter's  rescuer  wjth 
scorn  and  contempt.  She  blushed  for  her  father  and 
with  downcast  eyes  she  answered  Maurits'  question: 

"Yes,  it  was  my  parents  who  said  so.  If  they  have 
done  you  injustice,  as  I  am  almost  afraid  they  have, 
forgive  them — for  my  sake  at  least,"  added  she,  fasten- 
ing her  dark  blue  eyes  with  an  almost  pleading  look 
upon  the  young  man. 

"My  dear  Miss  Ehrenstam,  your  parents  have  in- 
deed done  me  injustice,  great  injustice,  but  I  am  not 
one  in  whose  heart  bitterness  is  everlasting.  By  my 
mother's  memory,  the  most  sacred  of  all  to  me,  I  as- 


510  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

sure  you  that  there  remains  not  a  single  feeling  of 
resentment  in  my  breast  at  the  wrongs  I  have  suffered." 

"I  believe  you,  Mr.  Sterner,  and  in  evidence  there- 
of, will  you  visit  us  when  my  parents  have  returned?" 

"Yes,  I  promise  you." 

"But  now,"  resumed  Isabella,  "tell  me  something  of 
your  childhood,  of  your  mother.  See,  we  are  coming 
to  be  as  brother  and  sister  who  have  found  each  other 
after  a  long  separation.  You  must  be  somewhat  in- 
terested in  me  because  of  having  saved  my  life,  and  I 
am  in  you  in  gratitude,  and  this  bond  of  friendship 
ought  to  beget  confidence  in  each  other.  So  say  my 
feelings  at  any  rate." 

"You  are  right.  I  regard  you  already  as  more  than 
a  friend,  as  a  sister." 

"And  I  regard  you  as  a — brother." 

The  word  did  not  come  easily,  but  it  came,  finally, 
though  it  caused  the  blood  to  mount  to  Isabella's 
cheeks. 

Maurits  began  the  story  of  his  childhood,  and  of 
his  mother's  life.  He  spoke  of  her  sufferings,  her 
struggles,  her  sacrifices.  Isabella's  eyes  were  dimmed 
with  tears  as  he  described  in  his  melodious  tones  the 
relation  that  existed  between  mother  and  son.  Mau- 
rits passed  over  everything  relating  to  the  parts  played 
in  his  life  history  by  Baron  Ehrenstam  and  Jacob 
Kron.  Neither  did  he  reveal  the  secret  of  his  birth, 
having  resolved  never  to  avail  himself  of  the  advantages 
it  offered  him.  He  would,  therefore,  that  it  should  be 
known  to  no  others  than  his  friends  whom  he  had 
already  made  confidants,  and  on  whose  silence  he  could 
depend.  What  he  permitted  the  young  woman  to 
hear,  however,  was  sufficient  to  enable  her,  with  her 
rich  imagination,  to  form  an  opinion  of  the  young 


THE   AFFINITIES  51! 

man's  character.  She  respected  him  already  in  her 
heart,  and  to  this  was  now  added  her  interest  and 
sympathy. 

The  evening  shadows  were  now  growing  longer  and 
longer,  and  this  confidential,  but  dangerous  tete-a-tete 
in  the  bower,  to  whose  pleasures  both  had  resigned 
themselves  without  thought  of  conventionalities,  must 
soon  come  to  an  end.  An  hour  had  flitted  by  faster 
than  if  it  had  wings.  Maurits  rose  to  go. 

Isabella  extended  her  hand,  and  again  their  eyes 
met.  Isabella's  hand  trembled;  her  heart  beat  vio- 
lently. She  felt  instinctively  that  she  stood  at  the 
turning  point  of  her  destiny,  and  upon  her  cheeks, 
the  fresh  roses  gave  place  quickly  to  the  snow  white 
of  the  lily.  She  responded  finally  to  the  pressure  of 
Maurits'  hand,  and  said,  with  a  slight  tremor  in  her 
voice: 

"Farewell,  Mr.  Sterner.  We  shall  soon  meet  again, 
shall  we  not?  You  will  come  to-morrow  evening?  ;l 

"Yes,  I  will  come." 

"And  be  assured  of  my  ever  enduring  gratitude  for 
the  much  you  have  done  for  me.  O,  I  can  never  dis- 
charge my  obligations!  " 

"Not  so,  Miss  Isabella.  It  is  I  who  am  under 
obligations  to  you  for  the  happiest  few  minutes  of  my 
lifetime.  I  shall  cherish  the  recollection  of  this  even- 
ing when  I  became  acquainted  with  you  and  learned 
to  know  what  treasures  are  stored  in  your  mind.  Yet 
a  word,"  added  he  quickly;  "is  it  necessary  that  you 
show  the  amber  heart,  or  speak  of  it  to  your  parents?" 

"Certainly  not,  if  it  is  your  wish  that  I  do  not,  "said 
Isabella  with  some  hesitation. 

"I  wish  it,  truly." 

"Very  well,  it  is  granted.     No  one  shall  see  it." 


512  'THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Thank  you." 

Yet  again,  Maurits  pressed  the  young  woman's  hand, 
and  departed,  leaving  Isabella  standing  at  the  entrance 
to  the  arbor. 

She  watched  him  until  his  tall  manly  figure  had 
quite  disappeared  among  the  trees,  then,  following 
slowly  in  the  same  path,  she  passed  through  the  park 
and  garden  to  the  house. 

His  heart  filled  with  indescribable  feelings,  feelings 
such  as  he  had  never  before  experienced,  Maurits 
leached  the  parsonage. 

He  had  seen  her  again,  the  girl  for  whom  he  had  so 
many  years  experienced  a  romantic  love  without  know- 
ing her.  Time  had  not  blotted  from  his  memory  the 
child  he  had  snatched  from  death.  Something  had 
whispered  to  him  long  ago  that  she  would  one  day 
recompense  him  fully  for  the  injustice  he  had  suffered 
at  the  hands  of  her  proud  and  heartless  father.  And 
how  did  he  find  her  now,  at  the  age  of  eighteen? 
Everything  he  had  fancied  her;  the  ideal  of  his 
dreams;  the  ideal  to  which  he  had  always  given  the 
name  of  Isabella,  endowed  not  alone  with  physical 
beauty,  and  in  the  richest  measure,  but  also  with  the 
sweet  graces  of  innocence,  and  possessing  such  lofty 
qualities  of  mind,  so  cultured,  so  genuine  and  yet 
so  unassuming,  as  to  surprise  and  charm  him. 

"How  strange!"  thought  he,  "that  such  a  beautiful 
flower  should  have  grown  in  such  uncongenial  soil; 
that  a  woman  so  cold,  so  proud,  and  a  father  so  heart- 
less and  tryannical  should  be  the  parents  of  such  a 
daughter.  But  true,  she  has  been  educated  by  Holmer, 
who  imparted  to  her  all  of  his  own  noble  and  lofty 
qualities,  and  who  has  enriched  her  understanding 
from  the  treasury  of  his  own  versatility  of  genius.  She 


THE     AFFINITIES  513 

has  been  neglected,  held  back,  ill-used,  may  be,  by 
her  parents,  who  did  not  understand  her,  and  she  has 
fled  to  her  noble  teacher  for  consolation.  And  he,  to 
make  up  for  the  bitter  in  her  everyday  life,  has  em- 
bellished her  mind  with  his  wealth  of  knowledge,  and 
knowledge  she  possesses,  in  richer  abundance  than 
any  woman  I  have  ever  met.  I  must  see  her  again.  I 
must  visit  her  in  her  home  in  order  to  inquire  into 
the  situation  of  affairs  between  her  and  her  parents, 
and  also,  to  know  how  the  baron  will  receive  me." 

Busied  with  such  thoughts,  Maurits  reached  the  par- 
sonage. 


CHAPTER  IV 

ISABELLA 

It  was  late  in  the  evening.  The  lamp  was  still 
burning  in  Isabella's  work-room  where  she  might  have 
been  seen  bending  over  a  writing-desk. 

This  room,  though  simply  furnished,  did  honor  to 
its  occupant,  more  particularly  in  the  articles  there 
gathered  bearing  witness  to  her  habits  and  occupa- 
tions. Here  stood  an  elegant  piano;  there  an  easel 
on  which  was  resting  a  half-finished  painting,  and  on 
the  other  hand  a  roomy  bookcase  filled  with  volumes 
of  the  choicest  works  of  every  age,  from  the  Greek 
poets  to  the  later  philosophers. 

With  a  zeal  that  recognized  no  obstacle,  the  young 
girl  had  plunged  into  studies  much  beyond  those  of 
the  ordinary  woman.  The  dead  languages  were  as 
familiar  to  her  as  those  of  her  own  day,  and  even  in- 
to the  mazes  of  philosophy,  Holmer  had  found  him- 
self compelled  to  lead  her  restless  spirit,  which 
scorned  the  pomp  and  glitter  of  this  world. 

The  faint  light  of  the  lamp  fell  upon  Isabella's  beau- 
tiful face,  whose  dazzling  complexion  was  made  still 
more  beautiful  by  a  white  night  dress  draped  in  grace- 
ful folds  around  a  figure  that  seemed  to  be  borrowed 
half  from  Juno,  half  from  Hebe. 

She  wrote  in  her  diary,  her  only  confidant,  and 
these  were  the  words  that  flowed  from  her  swiftly 
gliding  pen: 

514 


ISABELLA 


515 


"A  presentiment  tells  me  that  1  have  found  to-day 
what  I  have  hitherto  sought  in  vain,  a  mind  in  har- 
mony with  my  own.  I  know  no  words  that  will  de- 
scribe the  feeling  that  came  over  me  when  he  pressed 
my  hand,  when  his  glance  rested  on  mine.  I  felt  at 
once  ill  at  ease  and  happy.  Was  it,  perhaps,  only 
gratitude  to  the  rescuer  of  my  life?  I  sat  in  the  park 
reading  'Titan.'  Albano's  character  charmed  me,  and 
I  sighed  longingly  for  the  sight  of  his  counterpart 
(as  one  always  longs  to  see  the  beautiful  ideal  figure 
instinct  with  life)  and  when  I  looked  up,  behold  he 
was  before  rne, 

"He  is  like,  and  yet  so  unlike,  that  hateful  creature 
to  whom  my  parents  would  sell  me.  How  similar 
the  finely  chiseled,  symmetrical  and  striking  features, 
the  Grecian  nose  and  high  white  forehead,  and  yet 
how  different.  It  is  the  expression  that  makes  the 
distinction,  for  while  the  count's  face  is  repugnant 
to  me,  Maurits  Sterner' s  seems  to  possess  an  almost 
supernatural  beauty,  in  which  genius  and  virtue  are 
clearly  reflected. 

"And  when  he  talked  of  his  mother,  whom  he  loved 
so  dearly,  how  my  heart  was  moved!  What  a  model 
son  he  must  have  been! 

"Ah,  why  was  I  almost  a  stranger  to  my  parents, 
denied  the  happiness,  the  joy,  of  having  a  father  and 
a  mother  to  love!  My  parents  do  not  understand  my 
disposition,  they  thrust  me  coldly  from  them  when  I 
approach  them  with  affection.  No  wonder  that  the 
love  within  me  has  frozen. 

"Even  he  has  suffered  injustice  at  their  hands — cold 
ingratitude;  it  is  so  long  ago  that  I  can  hardly  recol. 
lect  the  incidents,  but  I  remember  that'  my  preserver 
departed  from  us  in  no  good  humor. 


51 6  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"It  is  quite  certain  they  offended  him.  My  father 
offered  him  money,  perhaps,  and  such  pride  in  a  'beg- 
gar young  one'  he  could  not  understand.  But  I  un- 
derstand it.  Such  a  deed  as  his  deserved  a  friendly 
look,  a  kindly  word,  and  he  received  neither  of  these. 

"This  young  man  is  to  come  here  in  a  day  or  two. 
I  have  so  persuaded  him.  It  may  be  I  have  done 
wrong  in  this. 

"It  will  be  an  embarrassing  meeting  to  my  parents. 
They  will  blush  at  the  thought  of  their  ingratitude, 
and  my  father,  just  because  of  this  feeling,  will  receive 
him  coldly,  without  doubt;  perhaps,  offend  him  anew. 

"But,  no,  that  he  cannot  do.  He  is  austere,  cold, 
proud,  but  he  is,  nevertheless,  a  man  of  the  world, 
and  not  wanting  in  tact  and  common  courtesy.  Such 
a  person  as  Maurits  Sterner  is  in  every  regard  entitled 
to  attention  and  respect.  If  my  father  should  feel 
inclined  to  treat  him  otherwise,  he  will  fear  public 
criticism.  I  may  be  at  ease,  therefore.  The  young 
author  will  be  treated  politely  at  least." 

Isabella  ceased  writing.  Laying  aside  her  pen,  she 
rose  and  went  to  the  piano.  But  the  fantasias  she 
played  were  disjointed  and  freakish.  By  turns  melt- 
ing away  in  sweet  adagio  like  the  first-born  sigh  of 
love,  by  turns  stormy  and  wild  like  a  cry  of  anguish. 

The  hours  sped  by,  the  light  went  out,  and  when 
Isabella  cast  a  glance  through  the  window,  the  eastern 
sky  was  already  colored  with  the  roses  of  the  coming 
morn. 

The  day  began  to  dawn. 

She  closed  the  piano,  went  to  the  window,  opened 
it  and  allowed  the  fresh  morning  breeze  to  play  among 
her  long  dark  tresses. 


ISABELLA  517 

Was  she  not  in  that  instant,  with  her  dark  eyes, 
deep  blue  as  the  sky  of  night,  locks  dark  as  the  night 
itself,  and  cheeks  rosy  with  the  kiss  of  the  morning 
zephyrs,  like  the  new-born  day  stepping  out  of  yonder 
glowing  sky? 

She  had  passed  the  night  without  sleep.  It  was 
not  the  first.  Souls  such  as  hers  are  not  disposed  to 
allow  the  body  rest.  They  are  awake  even  during 
the  body's  slumber,  for  their  fire  is  too  strong  to  be 
restrained  by  fetters. 

At  times  upon  the  wings  of  thought,  again  upon  the 
billows  of  her  feelings,  the  exuberance  of  life  that 
welled  up  within  her  sought  contentment;  and  the  hot 
blood  that  coursed  through  her  veins  had  always 
flowed  cooler  and  calmer  when  her  mind,  wearied  with 
investigations,  buried  her,  as  now,  in  the  waves  of 
sound,  or  the  sea  of  her  own  reflections. 

But  now,  now,  it  availed  her  nothing.  It  was  no 
longer  blood  that  flowed  in  her  veins.  It  was  streams 
of  fire  whose  consuming  heat  she  vainl)r  sought  to 
allay  with  the  chilly  morning  breezes.  Her  heart  beat 
with  apprehension  and  fear.  She  felt  that  like  the 
coming  day,  breaking  over  the  slumbering  grandeur 
of  the  landscape  before  her,  a  new  life  was  unfolding 
within  her.  So  was  her  spirit  first  lighted  by  the  mild 
rays  of  the  morning  of  love. 

Will  this  new  day  be  cloudy  or  fair?  Will  this 
sun,  hardly  lighted,  sink  again  into  the  gloom  of  the 
valley  of  death,  or  will  it  sometime  shine  bright  and 
clear  from  love's  zenith? 

Isabella  retired  to  rest,  and  slept  late  into  the  morn- 
ing, but  her  slumbers  were  unquiet  and  as  light  as  a 
bird's. 

A  noise  caused    by    the    chambermaid,  who,    having 


5l8  THE    PLAY  OF    FATE 

tiptoed    into    the    room    to    see    if    her    mistress    was 
awake,  stumbled  against  a  table,  awoke  her  instantly. 

"Forgive  me,  miss,"  said  the  girl  upon  seeing  Isa- 
bella sit  up  in  bed,  "forgive  me  for  waking  you.  I  did 
not  d)  it  intentionally." 

"It  is  of  no  consequence.      What  time  is  it?" 

"Half  past  seven." 

"I'll  get  up  at  once,  then.  Go  out  and  order  the 
coachman  to  have  the  carriage  in  readiness  at  nine,  I 
am  going  to  Marielund  this  forenoon." 

"As  you  will,  miss." 

Anna  departed,  and  Isabella  rose  and  dressed  herself 
without  awaiting  her  return.  A  carefully  selected  and 
becoming  attire  more  than  ever  contributed  to-day  to 
the  girl's  natural  beauty,  and,  when  Anna  had  returned 
and  dressed  her  hair,  she  surveyed  herself  in  the 
mirror  and  smiled  at  the  bewitching  figure  she  pre- 
sented. 

"Ah,  me,  how  grand  my  lady,  who  usually  pays  such 
little  heed  to  her  looks,  has  made  herself  to-day. 
Truly,  I  have  never  seen  you  look  so  beautiful  as  now, 
add  you  seem  to  be  so  happy  that  it  does  one's  soul 
good  to  see  you. " 

"Do  you  mean  it?"  said  Isabella  blushing.  "That 
pleases  me. " 

"Strange,  too,  these  words, "  resumed  Anna.  "Here- 
tofore, I  have  always  been  cut  short  when  I  have 
ventured  to  express  my  opinion  about  my  mistress' 
looks.  'You  may  think  you  give  me  pleasure  with  such 
flattery,  but  I  am  not  one  to  attach  any  value  to 
beauty,'  so  you  have  always  said,  and  you  have  always 
attired  yourself  in  the  simplest  manner,  but  now — " 

"Now,"  said  Isabella  laughing,  "you  are  altogether 
too  talkative,  my  dear  Anna.  I  am  going  out.  Is  it 


ISABELLA  519 

strange  that  I  should  attire  myself  with  more  than 
usual  care?  But  go  now." 

"Ah,  ha!"  muttered  Anna  to  herself  as  she  tripped 
down  stairs,  "I  understand  it  all.  T  saw  her  yesterday 
t  ilkiag  with  a  handsome  young  rnan  in  the  park:  hut 
I'jl  say  nothing,  not  I.  It  was  fun  to  make  her  blush 
a  little.  Well,  well,  her  time  will  come  some  day." 

Such  were  Anna's   thoughts. 

Liberated  from  her  talkative  waiting-maid,  she  drew 
from  her  purse  the  little  amber  heart  that  Maurits 
had  returned  to  her  the  evening  before,  untied  it 
from  the  silken  cord  to  which  it  was  fastened,  and 
attached  it  to  a  gold  chain  she  was  wearing  around 
her  neck,  and  the  trinket  disappeared  between  silk 
and  alabaster. 

"There,"  said  Isabella  softly,  "there  you  shall  rest 
until  I  die.  Holy  memories  live  with  you." 

She  would  have  said  blood)'  memories  had  she 
known— but  she  did  not.  Maurits  had  forgotten,  or 
attached  no  significance  to  Jacob's  warning:  "Who- 
so wears  this  trinket  will  be  pursued  by  a  terrible 
fate." 

Anna  returned  for  the  third  time. 

"It  is  nine  o'clock,  and  the  carriage  is  at  the  door," 
said  she. 

"Very  well.  But  let  me  see,  I  have  changed  my 
mind.  I  think  I  prefer  to  walk.  The  weather  is  beau- 
tiful, and  besides,  it  is  only  a  little  way.  Give  me  my 
cape,  parasol  and  hat." 

Anna  executed  the  commands.  "Shall  I  tell  the 
coachman  to  unhitch?"  asked  she. 

"Certainly,   since  you    hear  that  I    intend  to    walk." 

Accustomed  to  her  mistress'  changes  of  mind,  she 
made  no  answer.  The  horses  were  unhitched,  and 
Isabella  set  out  on  foot. 


520  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"So,  ho!  "  said  Anna  to  herself,  "she  hopes  to  meet 
him  on  the  way.  That  is  why  she  would  not  drive." 

After  a  walk  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  Isabella  reached 
the  residence  of  her  former  teacher.  She  entered  and 
proceeding  to  the  dining-room,  found  Marie  employed 
with  the  preparation  of  breakfast. 

"Good  morning,  Marie  dear!"  said  Isabella  cheerily. 
"You  are,  as  usual,  engaged  in  house-work,  I  see." 

"Ah,  Isabella!  cried  Marie  in  surprise,  "you  did 
not  go,  then,  with  the  family  to  Broby? " 

"No,  I  had  no  desire  to  make  the  horrid  journey. 
You  know  that  I  very  much  prefer  to  escape  such 
affairs.  I  was  not  designed  for  a  salon,  Marie." 

"You!  How  you  talk!  If  our  young  cavaliers 
heard  you,  they  would  swear  by  their  hopes  of  bless- 
edness that  you  are  just  the  one  to  most  adorn  a 
salon." 

"Yes,  they  are  all  very  much  interested  in  me,  or  to 
speak  correctly,  in  my  prospective  wealth.  Were  it 
not  for  this,  you  would  hear  what  a  fright  they  would 
pronounce  me.  But  is  your  good  man  at  home, 
Marie?  " 

"Yes,  he  is  in  his  room,  writing.  Be  seated,  my 
dear  Isabella,  and  tell  me  how  Holmer  and  I  fell  into 
disfavor  at  Liljedahl. " 

"Into  disfavor?"  inquired  Isabella,  seemingly  sur- 
prised. "I  don't  understand  you." 

"I  heard  that  you  had  a  great  party  some  days  ago, 
and,  contrary  to  custom,  we  were  not  invited.  It  has 
distressed  me,  for  I  have  felt  the  circumstance  had 
to  do  with  this  long  interval  between  your  visits.  I 
have  feared  that  in  some  way  Holmer  has  displeased 
your  father." 

"Ah!"    said     Isabella,  "I    fear  that    you    are    right, 


ISABELLA 


521 


Marie.  My  father  cannot  reconcile  himself  to  Holmer's 
school.  But  do  not  distress  yourself  unnecessarily. 
Let  us  hope  the  cloud  will  be  removed." 

"God  grant  it!"  sighed  Marie.  "But  what  objections 
has  your  father  to  our  poor  school?" 

"Let  us  leave  this  subject  until  another  time.  I 
have  something  else  concerning  which  I  would  speak 
with  you. " 

"What  is   it?" 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  the  young  author  of  'The 
Amber  Heart?'" 

"Maurits  Sterner?  Certainly.  Have  I  never  in- 
formed you  that  we  are  acquainted  since  childhood?" 

"Never. " 

"But  we  are,  nevertheless.  My  father  was  his 
teacher." 

1  I  know,  I  know,"  said  Isabella,  "and  during  that 
time  he  saved  my  life.  Have  you  never  heard  speak 
of  it,  Marie?" 

"Never.  I  was  not  aware  that  your  life  had  ever 
been  in  peril,"  answered  Marie,  amazed. 

"Yes,  it  was.  I  was  about  to  drown  in  the  river 
near  the  bridge,  and  Mr.  Sterner,  then  a  boy,  sprang 
into  the  water  and  rescued  me." 

"It  is  strange  that  I  never  heard  of  it  from  you  or 
him. " 

"I  was  made  aware  for  the  first  time  yesterday  that 
he  had  done  me  this  service,  and  he,  on  his  part,  has 
been  too  proud  to  seek  praise,  or  to  even  speak  of  it. " 

'Just  like  him,"  said  Marie,  "he  is  one  of  nature's 
noblemen.  But  from  whom  did  you  get  an  account 
of  it?" 

"From  himself." 

"Indeed!     You  have  met  him  then?" 


J22  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Yes,  he  surprised  me  in  the  park  as  I  sat  in  the 
arbor.  We  soon  became  acquainted,  you  can  readily 
understand." 

"Certainly,  with  such  'antecedentia,'  as  my  father 
used  to  say.  But  what  do  you  think  of  him?" 

"O,  I'll  suspend  my  judgment  until  later.  I  must 
go  up  to  your  husband  no-w.  You  will  not  be  jealous, 
I  hope?" 

"It  would  not  be  worth  while,"  said  Marie  pleas- 
antly. "But  you  must  not  fall  in  love  with  Mr. 
Sterner,  for  him  you  can  never  get." 

Isabella  turned  shortly  upon  the  threshold. 

"No,"  said  she  with  forced  calmness,  "he  is  already 
engaged,  perhaps?" 

"No,  not  that  I  am  aware  of.  I  was  thinking  only 
of  the  difference  between  the  proud  name  Ehrenstam, 
and  the  humble  Sterner." 

"Do  you  know,  Marie,  that  you  are  a  little  goose! 
Who  in  the  world  has  thought  of  falling  in  love?  "said 
Isabella  humorously.  "Not  I!  But  I  must  be  off  to 
your  husband  to  torment  him  awhile. " 

Isabella  sprang  up  the  stairs,  and  entered  a  small 
gable  room  where  Holmer  was  found  sitting  at  his 
writing  table. 

He  looked  up  quickly,  and  upon  recognizing  his 
former  pupil,  rose  in  glad  surprise  and  extended  his 
hand. 

"Well,  well,  this  is  an  unexpected  pleasure!  "  began 
Holmer.  "It  is  nearly  three  weeks  since  my  pretty 
miss  has  done  us  such  an  honor." 

"Ah!  my  dear  teacher  and  friend,"  said  Isabella,  seat- 
ing herself,  "you  know  more  than  well  that  it  is  not 
my  fault  My  father  has  forbidden  my  coming  here 
as  he  is  angry  with  you,  Holmer.  But  to-day  I  was  left 


ISABELLA  523 

alone  at  home,  my  parents  having  gone  to  Brobv,  and 
I  have  availed  myself  of  the  opportunity,  as  you  see, 
to  make  you  a  visit." 

"Good!"  said  Holmer.  "Shall  we  resume  the  in- 
terpretation of  the  tragedy  of  ^Eschylus,  or,  may  be, 
you  prefer  that  we  take  up  Milton's  Paradise  Lost?" 

"Neither."  said  Isabella.  "I  have  so  much  else  of 
which  I  would  speak  to  you,  that  I  fear  we  must  alhw 
the  p^ets  to  remain  on  the  shelves  for  this  tiir.e. 

"You  are  my  on\y  friend,  my  only  confidant,  Holmer 
I  have  never  concealed  from  you  a  single  thought,  a 
single  feeling  that  arose  within  me.  I  have  found  no 
one  among  my  own  sex  in  whom  I  could  have  con- 
fidence; for  all  women  hate  me  because  of  what  they 
term  my  pedantic  learning,  my  fancied  superiority. 
My  parents  look  upon  me  as  a  little  queer,  and  despise 
me  lor  what  they  term  my  plebeian  tendencies,  for 
which  they  blame  you,  Holmer.  You  knew  it,  and 
you  know,  too,  that  from  my  infancy  I  have  concen- 
trated all  my  friendship,  my  gratitude,  my  affection 
upon  you. " 

"And  you  know,  too,  that  I  have  never  betrayed 
your  confidence,  Isabella,"  said  Holmer;  "that  I  have 
by  word  and  deed  endeavored  to  show  myself  worthy 
of  your  friendship,  as  well  since  we  were  separated,  as 
before  when  I  was  your  teacher.  But  why  do  you 
bring  up  these  things  just  now?" 

"Why!"  broke  forth  the  blushing  Isabella,  "O 
Holmer,  because  I  wish  to  give  you  yet  a  better  proof 
of  my  confidence;  because  I  may  soon  need  the  benefit 
of  your  advice  and  wisdom.  New  feelings  are  storm- 
ing my  heart. " 

She  ceased  abruptly,  and  her  glance  sank  to  the 
floor  in  embarrassment. 


524  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"\Vell,  Isabella,  go  on,"  said  Holmer.  "I  suspect 
your  secret  already.  You  love  for  the  first  time. " 

Isabella  was  silent. 

"And  the  object  of  your  love,  the  more  than  blessed 
man,  who  is  he?" 

"O  Holmer!  I  have  seen  him  twice  only.  Once 
ten  years  ago,  and  again  yesterday." 

"Twice  only!"  said  Holmer,  shaking  his  head;  "Isa- 
bella, that  is  something  extraordinary.  You  have  prob- 
ably allowed  yourself  to  be  carried  too  far  upon  a 
momentary  impression.  It  may  leave  you  as  quickly 
as  it  came." 

"No,  no,  Holmer.  Love,  the  true,  the  eternal, 
must  be  such  as  I  have  dreamed.  It  is  born  in  a 
minute,  and  ablaze  at  the  first  meeting  of  two  con- 
genial souls.  It  is  not  slow  in  its  calculation,  cold, 
deliberate,  exacting.  It  is  a  lightning  flash  that 
springs  forth  and  in  a  second  transforms  the  heart.  O 
Holmer!  You  who  have  explored  the  paths  of  knowl- 
eJge,  who  have  measured  the  heights  and  depths  of 
human  life,  do  you  dare  deny  the  great,  the  funda- 
mental truth  that  men  call  affinity  of  souls?" 

"I  do  not  dispute  it,"  said  Holmer  with  a  melan- 
choly smile,  "but  I  am  calmer,  more  inclined  to  prove 
things  than  you,  Isabella.  This  feeling  may,  indeed. 
be  stable,  it  ma}'  also  be  false.  One  cannot  know  an 
affinity  at  a  glance,  First  impressions  are  deceptive, 
and  one  should  take  heed  thereof  if  he  would  escape 
lamenting  his  illusions.  Believe  me,  the  soul  does 
not  reveal  itself  at  a  glance.  Time  alone  can  bring 
out  its  full  expression." 

"You  must  forgive  me,"  interrupted  Isabella  ear- 
nestly, "if  I  do  not  agree  with  you  on  this  point.  I  do 
not  believe  that  it  is  always  the  case  that  congenial 


ISABELLA  525 

souls  know  each  other  at  first  sight,  but  I  do  believe 
firmly  that  it  can  sometimes  be  so,  and  concerning 
myself,  I  feel  that  the  impression  I  experienced  can- 
not lie." 

"And  who  is  it  that  has  made  this  impression  upon 
you?"  asked  Holmer,  interrupting  her. 

Isabella  related  the  circumstances  of  her  meeting 
with  Maurits  the  evening  before.  She  repeated  the 
conversation  that  had  passed  between  them  with  the 
exception  of  that  relating  to  the  amber  heart.  This 
the  young  man  had  requested  that  she  keep  to  herself. 

"And  you  love  this  man?"  asked  Holmer  when  she 
had  concluded. 

"I  do  not  say  that  I  love  him,  but  I  say  that  he  is 
the  only  one  whose  glance  has  made  such  an  impres- 
sion upon  me,  caused  to  vibrate  in  my  heart  chords 
that  no  other  one  has  so  much  as  set  in  motion.  Is 
this  love?  I  do  not  know,  but  I  do  know  that  it  is 
not  alone  gratitude  to  the  rescuer  of  my  life,  or  ad- 
miration for  a  genius  such  as  his." 

"And  you  intend  him  to  visit  Liljedahl?"  resumed 
Holmer. 

"Could  I  well  do  otherwise?" 

"But  do  you  not  realize,  my  poor  child,  that  you 
had  better  avoid  the  danger  of  another  meeting? 
The  passion  once  aglow  in  your  breast  will  blaze  with 
consuming  violence,  will  grow  to  a  tropical  heat  more 
quickly  with  you  than  with  others,  and  you  are  putting 
yourself  in  the  way  of  the  flames  thereof.  And,  too, 
before  he  has  responded  to  your  passion  with  one 
equally  strong,  equally  fervent.  What  will  the  con- 
sequences be?  Unhappiness  for  both." 

"And  why  unhappiness?" 

"Have  you  forgotten  that  Maurits  Sterner  is   of  the 


526  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

common  class;  that  your  parents  would  rather  bury 
you  alive  than  permit  your  union  with  a  man  not  of 
the  nobility?" 

"I  have  not  thought  of  this,  my  friend,  I  have 
thought  only  of  the  present  time.  I  believe  in  a  prov- 
idence, and  leave  the  future  to  it." 

"Do  you  know,  my  child,  that  if  one  casts  himself 
blindly  into  danger  and  says,  'I  believe  in  a  provi- 
dence,' he  opposes  providence  rather  than  puts  trust 
in  it?  It  is  dangerous  to  play  with  fire." 

"How  can  you  desire  that  I  shall  avoid  seeing  the 
preserver  of  my  life?:i  said  Isabella  with  some  impa- 
tience. "What  would  he  have  thought  had  I  shown 
him  that  I  wished  to  avoid  him?  Moreover,  who  has 
suggested  a  union?" 

"Not  you,  it  is  true,  but  the  time  may  come  when 
you  will  think  of  it." 

"And  if  so  be,  do  you  think  it  would  be  preposter- 
ous? Is  not  the  name  of  Maurits  Sterner  more  to  be 
prized  than  nobility,  and  may  it  not  be  presumed  that 
he  will  add  greater  luster  to  the  name?" 

"In  your  eyes  and  mine,  Isabella,  his  name  is  as 
worthy  of  respect  as  any  other,  but  not  so  with  your 
father.  If  a  Sterner  were  so  renowned  that  his  name 
promised  to  live  to  the  end  of  time,  it  would  make  no 
difference  with  Baron  Ehrenstam.  What  are  genius 
and  its  accompanying  distinctions  compared  with  the 
title  of  count  or  any  title  of  nobility?" 

"You  are  right.  O,  my  God!  That  such  prejudices 
should  exist." 

"It  is  truly  to  be  regretted,  but  we  can't  help  it. 
You  must  be  careful,  Isabella,  not  to  allow  your  im- 
pression to  grow  into  a  passion.  It  will  bring  you 
only  misfortune." 


ISABELLA 


527 


"You  speak  so  calmly,  so  coldly,  Holmer,  that  I  do 
not  recognize  you,"  burst  forth  the  young  girl.  "You, 
you,  who  have  been  my  guide  into  the  realms  of 
science  and  art;  you  who  shaped  my  mind  to  scorn 
the  world's  fetters  and  shams,  to  seek  only  the  true, 
the  beautiful  in  nature,  in  art,  in  all  things;  you  who 
have  never  allowed  the  prejudices  of  the  world  to  en- 
ter my  mind,  you  will  now  forbid  admittance  there  to 
the  most  holy,  the  most  blissful  feeling  that  can  pos- 
sibly fall  to  mortals.  You  would  close  the  only  par- 
adise God  has  opened  for  mankind  upon  earth,  the 
paradise  of  love.  You  say  to  me,  Beware,  young  girl, 
do  not  love.  He  upon  whom  you  would  bestow  your 
heart  is  of  the  common  class,  and  you  are  a  person  of 
rank.  How  is  it  possible  that  you,  my  teacher,  my 
triend,  can  say  so?" 

"Because  I  at  forty  years  can  see  things  from  a  less 
poetical  point  of  view  than  you  at  eighteen,"  said 
Holmer,  smiling  painfully,  "and  because  I  am  your 
friend;  because  I  am  interested  in  you  beyond  the 
power  of  expression,  I  would  rescue  you  from  the 
woes  of  an  unfortunate  love." 

"No  love  is  unfortunate  if  it  meets  with  a  response. " 

"It  might  be  as  you  assert  if  love  was  a  matter  of  the 
soul  alone  and  not  of  the  sense  or  passions,  but  it  is 
sensual  as  well  as  spiritual.  It  will  not  be  content 
with  love  in  the  broadest  application  of  the  word. 
It  will  possess  the  object  thereof,  and  if  it  cannot  be 
possessor  it  will  renounce.  Then  comes  the  burning 
that  consumes  the  heart,  darkens  the  understanding, 
withers  the  roses  on  the  cheek,  and  brings  the  tears 
of  anguish  and  despair  to  the  eyes.  I  would  spare  you 
these  pangs.  Therefore  my  warning." 

"Thank  you,  Holmer.      I  will  weigh  it  in  my  heart," 


528  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

rising  and  giving  him  her  hand.  "You  are  always  my 
friend,  my  only  true  friend  on  earth,  I  know.  I  come 
to  you  therefore,  when  anything  moves,  pains  or  charms 
me,  for,  ah!  I  look  upon  you  as  almost  a  father.  In 
truth,"  added  she  laughing,  "the  world  would  smile 
if  it  knew  that  a  young  girl  came  to  a  man,  to  whom 
no  bond  of  blood  joined  her,  to  ask  his  advice  in 
matters  of  the  heart.  At  any  rate,  it  is  not  at  all  or- 
dinary." 

"You  are,  however,  no  ordinary  woman,  Isabella. 
But  I  hear  Marie's  step  on  the  stairs.  She  comes  to 
call  me  to  breakfast." 

"Well,  have  you  had  your  tete-a-tete?"  asked  Marie, 
opening  the  door.  "Come  and  have  a  cup  of  coffee." 

"No,  thank  you,  Marie,  I  have  breakfasted." 

"But  you  can  come  down,  nevertheless,"  said  the 
young  wife.  "Come,  I  wish  to  show  you  something 
pretty." 

Marie  smiled  so  drolly  that  Isabella  hardly  knew 
what  to  think. 

"Very  well,"  said  she,  "I'll  go  with  you." 

When  they  reached  the  lower  room,  there,  first  to 
meet  her,  stood  her  acquaintance  of  the  day  before. 
Pastor  Bergholm  had  come  with  his  former  pupil  to 
enjoy  the  pleasure  of  showing  him  how  happy  his 
son-in-law  and  daughter  were,  and  how  neat  and  com- 
fortable were  their  surroundings.  Calmly  and  precisely, 
Maurits  bowed  to  the  blushing  maiden,  though  he  was 
more  than  surprised  at  her  presence.  But  Marie  broke 
in  roguishly: 

"Allow  me  the  honor.  Mr.  Sterner,  Miss  Ehren- 
stam." 

"We  are    already  acquainted,"  said  Maurits. 

"Yes,  and  since  a  long    tjme    ago,"  added    Hplmer. 


ISABELLA  529 

"True,"  said  Isabella,  as  her  glance  met  that  of 
Maurits;  "Mr.  Sterner  has  a  claim  upon  my  everlast- 
ing—" 

"Not  a  word  about  that,  Miss  Ehrenstam!  "  inter- 
rupted Maurits;  "when,  the  opportunity  was  given  me 
yesterday  to  exchange  a  few  words  with  you  in  the 
park,  I  requested  you  to  make  no  further  reference  to 
the  service  I  did  you.  You  promised  me  that  you 
would  not." 

Isabella  was  silent,  but  a  glance  from  her  deep  blue 
eyes  rewarded  Maurits  for  his  delicacy. 

The  conversation  was  soon  general.  They  discussed 
literature,  in  which  all  present  were  quite  at  home, and 
Isabella  listened  with  secret  joy  to  every  word  uttered 
by  the  young  author.  She  felt  that  the  ideas  expressed 
by  him  were  the  utterances  of  her  own  soul, the  echoes 
of  her  own  thoughts,  and,  forgetting  Holmer's  warn- 
ing, she  drank  in  at  every  breath  the  sweet  but  dan- 
gerous poison.  Hours  sped  by  as  minutes.  It  was  al- 
ready mid-day  when  Isabella  finally  thought  of  leaving. 
Pastor  Bergholm  and  Maurits  accompanied  her  almost 
to  the  mansion.  Tha  pastor  following,  silent  and 
dreaming,  left  the  young  couple  to  themselves,  and, 
as  two  happy,  innocent  children,  they  made  good  use 
of  their  liberty.  They  ran  races  after  the  butterflies 
that  sported  over  the  meadows,  they  plucked  flowers 
which  they  exchanged  with  each  other,  and,  again  and 
again,  their  hands  met  in  gentle  touches,  whereupon  a 
thrill  passed  over  them  that  sent  the  blood  coursing  to 
their  cheeks.  Few  words  passed  between  them.  They 
regaled  themselves  with  the  dumb  language  of  the 
eyes. 

"I'll  see  you  again,"  said  Maurits,  as  they  stood  at 
the  end  of  their  walk,  about  to  separate,  Isabella 
answered  with  her  eyes  onlv. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  VISIT 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  Isabella's  parents 
returned,  accompanied  by  George  and  two  young  gen- 
tlemen, concerning  whom  we  shall  have  more  to  say 
at  another  time. 

"Good  evening,  Isabella,"  said  the  baron  as  the 
young  woman  entered  the  salon.  "Has  any  one  called 
during  my  absence?" 

"No,  father." 

The  two  guests  who  had  been  brought  from  Broby, 
now  hastened  forward  to  greet  the  young  lady. 

"My  dear  miss!"  exclaimed  Lieutenant  Hjertskold 
complaisantly,  "how  much  we  have  deplored  your  ab- 
sence." 

"And  you,"  added  the  Baron  Ornskold,  "must  feel 
a  little  regret." 

"Over  what,  gentlemen?"  inquired  Isabella. 

"That  an  incomprehensible  notion  kept  you  from  the 
charming  party  at  Broby." 

"Yes,  I  am  suffering  some  remorse.  Unfortunately, 
however,  it  is  now  too  late,"  said  Isabella;  "but  of 
what  do  you  particularly  complain,  lieutenant?" 

"At  the  same  freak,  of  course,"  answered  the  lieu- 
tenant, "that  deprived  the  festival  of  its  chief  orna- 
ment and  allowed  us  cavaliers  to  feel  the  bitter  in 
the  disappointed  expectation." 

"You  ought  to  know,  gentlemen,"  interrupted  the 

530 


THE    VISIT  531 

baron,  "that  my  daughter  is  given  to  a  philosophy 
of  life  wholly  unlike  that  of  other  young  women.-  She 
would  withdraw  from  the  world,  and  if  there  were 
such  things  as  cloisters  now,  -she  would  seek  a  refuge 
there,  I  am  sure,  from  its  bustle  and  dissipations." 

"She  remained  home,  I  think,  to  enjoy  herself  un- 
disturbed with  Virgil's  idyls,"  added  the  baroness. 

"You  have  heard,  I  presume,"  said  George,  "that, 
next  to  Christina,  my  sister  is  the  most  learned 
woman  of  history,  and  she  looks  with  haughty  dis- 
dain upon  us  ordinary  creatures  who  find  entertain- 
ment in  the  vulgar  pleasures  of  the  world." 

Only  a  compassionate  smile  gave  evidence  that 
Isabella  had  heard  these  several  remarks. 

"Is  it  possible,  Miss  Ehrenstam, "  burst  forth  Lieu- 
tenant Hjertskold,  "that  you  can  love  the  idyls  of 
Virgil  more  than  the  realities  of  our  every-day 
life?  Had  you  been  at  Broby  yesterday  evening,  you 
could  have  seen  a  living  idyl." 

"A  living  idyl!"  said  Isabella. 

"Yes,  for  most  of  the  guests  were  clad  in  the 
garb  of  shepherds  and  shepherdesses.  It  was  the 
count's  birthday,  and  the  countess  wished  to  have 
something  out  of  the  ordinary.  We  danced  •  until 
sunset  out  on  the  green  meadow  that  lies  at  one  side 
of  the  residence,  after  which  the  ball  proper  began  in 
the  salon.  It  was  charming,  and  was  kept  up  until 
morning.  Most  of  the  guests  went  then,  but  a  few  of 
the  intimate  friends  of  the  family  remained.  This 
forenoon,  we  enjoyed  a  long  horseback  ride  in  our 
costumes  of  the  day  before,  and  dined  in  the  forest 
near  a  pretty  purling  brook.  But  you  are  not  listen- 
ing, Miss  Isabella." 

"Yes,"  said  Isabella,  with  a  slight  touch  of  irony  in 


53 2  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

her  tones,  "I  heard  everything  you  said,  sir.  But  you 
are  cruel  to  punish  me  in  such  a  manner.  I  could 
almost  envy  you  your  living  idyls." 

''Truly,  Miss  Isabella!" 

"Don't  believe  her!"  broke  in  George  scornfully; 
"she  could  find  no  pleasure  in  idyls  other  than  those 
written  in  French,  Greek  or  Latin,  and  as  for  dancing, 
that  she  loves  only  as  a  fine  art.  Our  party  dances 
are  to  her  no  more  than  a  ludicrous  burlesque  on  danc- 
ing in  its  higher  sense.  How  is  that,  my  little  sister, 
right  or  not?" 

"Quite  right,  George.  Just  as  our  most  zealous 
dancers  and  society  lions  are  burlesques  on  mankind 
in  its  highest  significance, "  the  young  woman  retorted, 
goaded  by  her  brother's  scoffing. 

"Isabella!  "  cried  the  baron  with  an  angry  frown, 
"3^011  forget  yourself." 

Isabella  felt  the  tears  well  up  in  her  eyes,  but  she 
repressed  them,  unwilling  to  allow  her  unkind  brother 
the  triumph  of  seeing  her  wounded.  Meantime,  the 
lieutenant  and  baron,  quite  embarrassed,  had  gone  to 
the  window  from  which  they  seemed  to  be  very  much 
absorbed  with  the  view  before  them. 

"Isabella!"  said  the  baroness,  aiming  to  break  the 
unpleasant  silence  that  had  followed  the  baron's 
stern  reprimand,  "how  did  you  occupy  yourself  during 
our  absence?" 

"I  visited  Holmer's  this  forenoon,"  answered  she, 
casting  a  defiant  glance  at  her  father. 

"What,  Isabella!"  said  the  baron  angrily,  "have  you 
dared  to  disobey—"  he  checked  himself  hastily,  re- 
membering the  presence  of  the  guests. 

"Yes,  I  have  dared  disobey  you,"  said  Isabella, 
completing  her  father's  sentence.  "I  would  not,  could 


THE    VISIT  533 

not,  be  so  ungrateful  to  my  former  teacher  as  to  wholly 
and  so  suddenly  sever  the  relations  that  have  so  long 
existed  between  us.  I  wished  him  to  understand  that 
I  had  not  voluntarily  ceased  my  visits." 

"We  will  talk  this  over  at  another  time,  Isabella," 
said  the  barcn,  his  brow  clouded  with  displeasure. 

"At  Holrner's,"  resumed  Isabella,  casting  a  searching 
glance  at  her  father,  "I  met  a  young  man  who  intends 
to  make  us  a  visit  to-morrow.  You  know  him,  father, 
by  name,  at  least. " 

"Who  is  it  then?"  asked  the  baron. 

"His  name  is  Maurits  Sterner." 

"Maurits  Sterner!"  exclaimed  the  baron,  springing 
excitedly  from  his  chair.  "That  confounded  play- 
wright!" added  he,  endeavoring  to  assume  an  air  of 
unconcern. 

"Ah!  Indeed!"  broke  in  the  baroness,  "you  must 
have  made  a  very  interesting  acquaintance,  Isabella. 
I  am  almost  certain  that  you  invited  him  here?" 

"Yes,  mother." 

"I  thought  as  much.  It  seems  to  me  extraordinary, 
however,  that  a  young  woman,  upon  her  first  meeting 
with  a  man — 

"It  was  not  our  first  meeting,"  said  Isabella,  inter- 
rupting her  mother. 

"Indeed!      And  where  had  you  met  him  before?" 

"The  first  time  ten  years  ago." 

"Ten  years  ago!  She  knows  all,"  muttered  the 
baron  to  himself;  "curse  the  luck!" 

"Yes,"  resumed  Isabella,  "ten  years  ago,  he  saved 
my  life  as  I  was  about  to  drown  in  the  stream  below 
here.  You  have  not  forgotten  the  circumstance, 
mother?" 

"Was  it  he!"  exclaimed  the    baroness  and    baron  in 


534  THK    PLAY    OF    FATE 

one  voice,  the  first  actually  surprised,  the  latter  feign- 
ing the  utmost  astonishment. 

"Yes.  And  you  can  understand,  mother,  that  I  felt 
it  my  duty  to  invite  him  to  visit  us." 

"Very  true,  Isabella,"  assented  the  baroness.  "You 
did  quite  right.  One  should  not  neglect  an  opportunity 
to  show  gratitude  for  such  a  great  service." 

"O, "  interposed  Baron  Ornskold,"  how  I  envy  the 
young  man  who  was  so  fortunate  as  to  have  saved  your 
life.  He  can  always  lay  claim  to  your  interest  and 
sympathy. " 

"Right,    baron,    that  he  can,"  answered  Isabella. 

"This  Mr.  Sterner,"  inquired  the  baron,  "where  is 
he  residing  just  now?" 

"With  his  former  teacher,  Pastor  Bergholm." 

"Ah!  It  must  have  been  an  agreeable  surprise  to 
find  your  rescuer,  my  dear  Isabella,"  said  the  baron; 
"he  left  us  on  that  occasion  without  giving  his  name, 
and  though  I  sought  his  whereabouts  afterward,  I  did 
not  succeed  in  finding  him.  He  was  then  but  a  boy, 
and  his  features  and  attire  led  me  to  suppose  he  be- 
longed to  the  lower  class.  I  concluded  him  a  peasant 
boy,  and  offered  him  what  seemed  to  me  adequate 
compension  for  his  noble  deed,  but  he  declined  it 
with  a  haughtiness  that  astonished  me,  and  went  his 
way  without  a  word  further.  Since  then,  I  have  never 
heard  of  him." 

These  words  were  uttered  in  tones  so  calm  and 
measured  that  Isabella,  who  knew  already  from  Mau- 
rits  how  deeply  her  father  had  wronged  him,  almost 
admired  him  for  his  ingenuity  in  giving  color  to  his 
side  of  the  story. 

"He  is  coming  to-morrow  then?  '  resumed  the  bar- 
oness. 


THE    VISIT 

'  fes,  he  promised.      Upon  one  condition,  however." 

"And   that?" 

"That  no  reference  snail  be  made  to  the  accident 
at  the  bridge.  He  begged  to  be  spared  the  least  ex- 
pression of  gratitude.  I  know  not  why." 

'But  I  know!"  muttered  the  baron  to  himself.  "He 
could  not  have  conceived  anything  keener. " 

The  baroness  was  of  a  mind  with  her  husband,  but 
both  concealed  their  thoughts. 

A  servant  entering  the  room  about  this  time  to  an- 
nounce supper,  the  subject  was  not  discussed  further. 
All  repaired  to  the  dining-hall,  where  they  separated 
soon  after  the  meal  to  retire  to  sleep  and  to  rest  off  the 
dissipations  of  the  night  before. 

It  was  four  o'clock  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day 
following  the  incidents  just  related.  The  baroness, 
in  all  her  state,  was  lolling  on  a  divan  near  a  work- 
table.  The  baron  appeared  to  be  fully  occupied  with 
reading  a  paper,  and  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  seated 
around  another  table,  were  George  and  his  young 
friends  engaged  in  a  gams  of  cards.  Isabella  was 
seated  in  a  rocking-chair  at  her  mother's  side  busied 
with  a  piece  of  tapestry  work. 

"Isabella,"  said  the  baroness,  who  was  unusually 
agreeable  to-day,  "have  you  heard  that  Count  Eberhard 
has  returned  from  his  visit  to  the  baths?  He  could 
not  stand  it  there  longer  than  a  week,  and  is  now 
home  again." 

"I  had  not  heard  it.      Where  did  you  learn  it?" 

"His  servant  was  here  to-day,  the  bearer  of  a  letter 
from  one  of  my  friends  whom  the  count  chanced  to 
meet  during  his  absence.  'Pierre,'  said  I,  'why  did 
your  master  return  so  suddenly?  Was  he  not  to  have 
been  gone  a  month?' 


536  THE    1>LAY   OF    FATE 

"'Yes,'  answered  he,  'that  was  the  understanding, 
but  the  count  is  tired  of  travel,  and  when  I  asked  him 
why,  he  answered,  Pierre,  I  am  weary  of  a  bachelor's 
Lfe;  I  am  going  home  to  marry.'" 

A  shudder  passed  through  Isabella's  frame.  She 
feared  her  father's  project,  formed  many  years  ago,  but 
dropped  because  of  the  reluctance  of  the  parties  there- 
to, was  about  to  be  revived,  and  she  was  terrified  at 
the  thought  of  the  many  trials  and  agonies  she  must 
necessarily  undergo  in  case  the  count  showed  a  dis- 
position to  reconsider  the  matter.  She  smothered  her 
anxiety,  however,  and  answered  calmly:  "But  it  is 
reported  that  the  count  has  become  a  complete  misan- 
thrope of  late,  and  such  a  person  can  hardly  think 
seriously  of  marriage.  Has  he  not  lived  the  three  or 
four  summers  past  at  Odensvik  the  life  of  a  hermit 
almost,  seeing  no  one  except  his  servant,  Pierre?" 

"Very  true,  Isabella,  but  the  count's  language  to  his 
servant  seems  to  indicate  that  he  has  changed  his 
mind.  It  is  more  than  probable  that  he  will  soon  ask 
your  parents  for  your  hand,  Isabella.  He  has,  I  am 
sure,  always  esteemed  you  highly,  and  it  is  only  his 
unaccountable  love  for  the  freedom  of  a  single  life 
that  has  kept  him  from  declaring  himself  before  this. 
But  now,  having  tired  of  the  fleeting  joys  of  the 
world,  he  has  determined  to  settle  down  on  his 
beautiful  estate  and  choose  himself  a  wife,  and  it  is 
not  yet  too  late  for  you  to  become  the  Countess  Stjer- 
nekrantz,  my  daughter. " 

"Death  first,"  thought  the  girl,  the  color  going  from 
her  face.  "Such  a  union  has  always  been  full  of  hor- 
ror to  me,  but  now,  now  it  is  more  impossible  than 
ever. " 

Isabella  was  thinking  of  the  meeting  of  yesterday  in 
the  park. 


I 

THE    VISIT  537 

"Well,"  said  the  baroness,  receiving  no  response 
from  Isabella,  "you  are  silent." 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  mention  that  this  conver- 
sation between  mother  and  daughter  was  conducted  in 
low  tones,  so  that  none  of  the  others  in  the  salon 
heard  what  was  said. 

"Mother,"  said  Isabella  finally,  with  trembling 
voice,  "would  you  really  give  your  daughter  in  wed- 
lock to  Count  Eberhard?" 

What  a  question!  Can  you  conceive  a  more  prom- 
ising union?  You  are  both  young,  both  rich,  both  of 
high  birth.  It  is  your  father's  intention  to  give  you 
Liljedahl  and  two  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  cash 
as  a  dowry.  George  is  to  have  for  his  share  my  pat- 
rimony in  Oster-Gothland  and  the  rest  of  our  prop- 
erty. This  when  we  are  no  more,  of  course.  If  to 
your  inheritance  Odensvik  is  added,  and  the  count's 
other  possessions  and  wealth,  yours,  without  doubt, 
will  be  the  wealthiest  house  in  all  Sweden.  More- 
over, this  union  has  been  your  father's  most  cherished 
thought  for  years 

"Mother,"  said  Isabella,  "you  said  just  now  that  the 
count  had  probably  tired  of  his  single  life  and  had 
determined  to  settle  down  and  choose  himself  a  wife. 
It  cannot  be  unknown  to  you  that  this  man  has  drunk 
to  the  dregs  of  the  goblet  of  pleasure,  that  he  has  dis- 
sipated even  to  the  verge  of  imbecility,  and  now,  when 
the  bloom  of  youth  has  been  destroyed  by  passion's 
poison;  when  excesses  of  all  kinds,  even  of  the  lowest 
and  most  unmanly,  have  undermined  his  health  and 
made  him  no  better  than  a  shadow  of  his  former  self; 
reduced  him  to  a  living  skeleton,  to  an  enfeebled  ghost 
of  a  man;  gloomy  almost  to  despair,  cold  and  egotist- 
ical to  heartlessness;  you  will  give  your  only  daughter 


THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

into  his  arms  and  compel  her  to  become  the  wife  of 
one  whose  past  life  should  make  him  an  object  of 
scorn  to  mankkid  in  virtuous  horror  and  contempt. 
Have  you  thought  of  this,  mother?" 

"Isabella,  always  the  same,  I  see!"  burst  forth  the 
baroness  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders,  "always  ex- 
alted! Extravagant,  unreasonable!  Will  you  never 
learn  to  look  at  things  as  they  are,  but  continually 
wander  off  into  imaginings  and  wild  notions?  In  all 
the  terrible  pictures  you  have  portrayed,  not  one  thing 
is  true,  except  that  Count  Stjernekrantz,  just  as  so 
many  other  young  men  of  wealth,  has  given  himself 
up  for  a  few  years  to  the  pleasures  of  the  world.  He 
has  been  fickle  and  thoughtless,  it  may  be,  but  he  is 
not  nevertheless,  an  exhausted  roue.  Admitted  that 
he  has  sometimes  of  late  shown  signs  of  melancholy, 
and  of  the  misanthropist,  but  this  has,  doubtless,  had 
its  origin  in  that  he  felt  himself  alone  and  isolated. 
Once  married,  he  will  resume  his  former  happy  and 
agreeable  disposition.  This  you  ought  to  have  no 
doubt  about.  He  is  also  quite  a  young  man  yet,  only 
a  few  and  thirty  years  old,  and  regarding  his  looks, 
he  is  a.  little  thin,  but  far  from  disagreeable  looking. 
If  you  marry  him,  as  I  hope  you  will,  you  will  surely 
find  yourself  contented,  if  even  you  are  at  first  unable 
to  cultivate  any  warmer  feeling  for  him." 

"But  it  is  impossible,  mother!"  exclaimed  Isabella 
in  despair;  "it  is  impossbile!  I  can  never  love  him!" 

"Codille!  Brother  Ornskold,"  shouted  George  tri- 
umphantly, in  the  other  corner  of  the  room.  "Codille! 
That  play  will  cause  you  to  lose  the  game  by  one 
hundred  and  sixty." 

"The  accursed  scribblers!"  muttered  the  baron  be- 
tween his  teeth,  hurling  the  paper  from  him  and  seiz- 
ing another,  "such  a  shameless  pack!  " 


THE    VISIT  539 

"Isabella,"  resumed  the  baroness  after  a  pause, 
"what  silliness  to  prate  about  love!  A  rich  heiress, 
such  as  you,  does  not  marry  for  love.  Such  things 
belong  these  days  wholly  to  the  stage  and  romances. 
You  should  think  of  the  words  of  the  Dowager  Queen 
Christina  to  Ebba  Brahe:  'The  one  you  will,  the 
other  you  shall,'  etc.  You  remember  the  story?" 

"Then  you  intend  to  compel  me,  mother?"  asked 
Isabella,  in  a  voice  vibrating  with  a  thousand  strug- 
gling feelings. 

"Compel  you!      I  hope  it  will  not  be  necessary.-" 

"I  will  not  voluntarily  go  to  the  altar  at  that  man's 
side,"  replied  Isabella  with  the  energy  of  despair; 
"and  I  beg  you,  mother,  if  such  a  terrible  thing  should 
happen  that  he  propose,  do  not  drive  me  to  extremes. 
In  such  an  event,  I  should  be  equal  to  — " 

She  checked  herself  suddenly. 

"Well,  what!"  asked  the  baroness. 

Isabella  was  spared  an  answer,  for  at  that  instant 
the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  a  servant  announced: 

"Count  Stjernekrantz. " 

Baron  Ehrenstam  threw  the  paper  aside;  the  three 
players  rose  hastily  from  the  table;  the  baroness  ad- 
vanced majestically  to  meet  her  guest,  and  Isabella, 
who  had  risen  from  her  seat,  felt  the  blood  rush  from 
her  cheeks,  and  a  fear  that  rendered  her  almost  pow- 
erless. She  staggered,  and  was  obliged  to  steady  her- 
self against  the  divan  to  escape  falling.  Eberhard 
entered,  and  with  a  bow  saluted  the  ladies,  then  ex- 
tended his  hand  to  the  baron,  who  shook  it  with  an 
expression  of  pleasure  rarely  observed  on  his  marble- 
cold  features. 

Count  Stjernekrantz  was  clad,  as  usual,  wholly  in 
black.  His  melancholy  and  somewhat  sunken,  but 


54°  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

always  handsome  features,  shadeM  by  a  head  of  coal- 
black  hair,  which  had  already  begun  to  show  silver 
threads  of  time,  bore  marks  of  excesses  and  a  satiety 
of  life  which  long-continued  dissipation  and  offerings 
at  the  altar  of  pleasure  never  fail  to  leave.  The 
scornful  curl  of  the  lips,  the  deep  glow  of  the  eyes, 
the  furrows  on  his  forehead — evidences  of  the  fearful 
ravages  of  the  passions — the  deathly  pale,  almost 
white  cheeks,  gave  to  his  face,  notwithstanding  its 
harmonious  beauty,  an  expression  that  begot  aversion 
in  one  who  saw  him  for  the  first  time.  No  one  had 
yet  seen  that  face  illumined  by  a  smile.  Always  cold, 
gloomy,  marble-white,  it  seemed  rather  to  belong  to  a 
ghost  than  a  human  being.  Only  the  eyes,  that  now 
blazed  with  a  consuming,  hellish  glow,  gave  it  life 
and  betrayed  the  fire  that  was  burning  within, 

"Well,  well;  you  have  come  upon  us  quite  unex- 
pectedly, my  dear  count!"  exclaimed  the  baroness, 
motioning  him  to  a  seat.  "It  was  your  intention,  we 
thought,  to  spend  your  summer  at  the  sea-shore,  but 
you  are  as  changeable  as  ever,  I  see." 

"Yes,  my  lady,  I  did  so  intend,  but  I  did  not  thrive 
at  the  baths,  and,  wearied  with  travel  and  pleasure 
parties,  I  concluded  to  return  home  and  settle  down 
at  Odersvik. " 

With  this  utterance,  his  eyes  fell,  with  a  peculiar 
expression,  on  Isabella,  whose  blood  was  made  to  rush 
to  her  heart  thereby.  She  seemed  to  read  her  fate  in 
his  glance. 

"But  you  are  not  going  to  lock  yourself  in  as  you 
did  last  summer,  my  friend,"  said  the  baron.  "You 
were  then  almost  unapproachable,  living  the  life  of  a 
hermit.  You  must  visit  your  neighbors  frequently, 
and  us  in  particular,  being  your  nearest." 


THE    VISIT 


541 


"I  will  come,"  said  Eberhard,  "on  condition  that  I 
am  to  be  considered  a  member  of  the  family.  I  enjoy 
a  hearty  and  unrestrained  sociability  above  all  things." 

"And  it  shall  not  be  wanting  here,  mon  frere, "  said 
George.  "We  will  hunt,  play  cards  and 'drink  cham- 
pagne together  during  the  two  months  I  am  at  home, 
and  here  are  two  jolly  young  fellows  that  1  have  had 
the  good  fortune  to  gather  in  for  the  summer  sojourn 
—  Baron  Ornskold,  Lieutenant  Hjertskold,"  added  he 
by  way  of  introduction. 

Eberhard  rose  and   bowed  coldly. 

The  three  gentlemen  resumed  their  play  without 
further  attention  to  the  newly  arrived  guest. 

The  conversation  between  her  ladyship,  the  count 
and  Baron  Ehrenstam  was  confined  to  ordinary  topics. 
Isabella  took  no  part  in  it,  but  busied  herself  with 
her  needle-work. 

Isabella  cast  frequent  glances  at  the  door  of  the 
salon,  and  at  every  footstep  on  the  porch  she  turned 
hastily  to  listen,  but  a  half  hour  sped  by  without  in- 
t  erruption. 

"He  is  not  coming,"  thought  she.  "He  has  forgot- 
ten his  promise.  Well,  very  good!"  Here  she  paused, 
for  at  the  instant  the  door  was  thrown  open  and  a 
servant  announced: 

"Mr.  Sterner," 

Eberhard  was  engaged  in  describing  to  the  baroness 
a  painting  by  Rubens  which  he  had  seen  while  in 
Milan.  He  ceased  abruptly  at  the  announcement,  and 
sprang  from  his  seat  as  if  shot  upward  by  a  catapult. 
With  firm  step,  and  perfectly  self-possessed,  Maurits 
entered,  clad  in  black,  as  was  Eberhard.  A  dead  si- 
lence prevailed  for  some  seconds.  All  were  over- 
whelmed at  this  instant  by  the  most  dissimilar  feel- 


542  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

ings.  Pride,  curiosity,  anger,  gratitude,  love,  embar- 
rassment, all  of  these  impressions,  made  by  Maurits' 
presence,  were  soon  concealed  under  the  desultory  con- 
versation that  was  now  opened. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  the  baroness,  approaching  Mau- 
rits with  marked  graciousness,  "I  need  not  tell  you 
how  delighted  we  all  are  to  see  you  among  us.  We 
know  how  much  we  are  indebted  to  you  from  many 
years  ago,  and  we  realize  that  we  are  under  obliga- 
tions to  you  that  it  were  vain  to  attempt  to  discharge." 

"I  beg  you,  my  lady,  not  a  word  about  it,"  said 
Maurits,  bowing;  "the  subject  would  hardly  have  been 
remembered  had  it  not  given  me  a  welcome  opportu- 
nity to  enter  your  pleasant  circle  during  my  visit  to 
these  parts. " 

"A  circle  that  bids  you  welcome  with  gratitude,  sir, 
and  we  hope  to  count  you  among  our  daily  guests," 
said  the  baron,  extending  his  hand  with  that  delicate 
tact  and  courteous  smile  under  which  the  accomplished 
man  of  the  world  knows  so  well  how  to  conceal  his 
real  sentiments. 

The  attention  of  the  guests  was  now  occupied  with 
a  happening  of  a  very  different  character. 

"My  God!  Count  Stjernekrantz!"  cried  the  baron- 
ess, her  eyes  chancing  to  fail  upon  Eberhard  ;  "what 
is  the  matter!  Are  you  ill?" 

The  count  did  not  answer.  With  his  hands  con- 
vulsively grasping  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  lips  quiver, 
ing  and  knees  quaking,  he  was  staring  wildly  into 
Maurits'  face.  Horror  was  so  clearly  depicted  on  his 
countenance  that  every  one  felt  a  chill  to  the  very 
marrow.  Eberhard  appeared  to  have  forgotten  his 
whereabouts,  and  to  be' insensible  to  the  fact  that  he 
was  at  this  instant  the  object  of  inquiring  glances  from 
all  sides. 


THE    VISIT 


543 


"Whew!  But  it  is  dreadful!"  whispered  Baron 
Ornskold  to  George;  "he  looks  as  Hamlet  must  have 
looked  when  he  saw  his  father's  ghost." 

This,  though  uttered  in  an  undertone,  reached  the 
ears  of  the  count,  and  echoed  in  his  heart,  in  his  con- 
science. As  if  on  the  verge  of  madness,  he  stretched 
forth  his  unoccupied  hand  toward  Maurits,  who  was 
standing  near  with  folded  arms,  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
him,  and  burst  forth  in  tones  befitting  an  exorcist: 

"It  is  the  i6th  of  June  to-day,  the  i6th  of  June! 
Away!  Away!  It  was  not  I,  it  was  fate!" 

"Eberhard!  Mon  Dicu!  Are  you  beside  yourself!" 
ciied  George,  grasping  the  count's  arm.  "You  are  not 
a  ghost  seer,  I  hope!" 

These  words  brought  the  count  to  his  senses.  With 
an  almost  superhuman  effort,  he  succeeded  in  tearing 
himself  from  the  terrible  apparition  that  clouded  his 
understanding.  His  face  gradually  resumed  its  cus- 
tomary calm;  his  body  seemed  to  draw  together  again, 
and  his  eyes,  that  for  a  time  threatened  to  burst  from 
their  sockets,  sank  back  again  to  their  normal  condi- 
tion. He  drew  his  blood  red  handkerchief  across  his 
corpse  like  face. 

"Forgive  me,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  stammered 
in  uncertain  tones.  "I  was  not  well.  I — I — it  was — as 
if  — a  giddiness  had  come  over  me,  but— I — am  better 
— now. " 

Isabella  had  observed  these  strange  actions  with  a 
shudder.  She  was  the  only  one  of  the  company  upon 
whom  the  thought  flashed:  "This  man  must  have  some 
terrible  crime  on  his  conscience."  All  the  others,  ex- 
cept Maurits,  who  did  not  know  what  to  think,  ac- 
cepted the  count's  explanation  in  good  faith.  A  serv- 
ant hastened  at  the  command  of  the  bareness  after  a 


544  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

glass  of  fresh  water  which  she  handed  him  on  its  ar- 
rival. Eberhard  drained  it  at  a  single  draught,  and 
had  soon  so  far  revived  that  he  resumed  his  part  in 
the  conversation. 

George  greeted  Maurits  with  manifest  embarrass- 
ment. The  latter  responded  with  a  cold  bow  only, 
declining  the  hand  extended  to  him. 

1  Maurits,"  whispered  George,  drawing  near,  "forget 
the  past.  No  one  is  master  of  circumstances,  and  the 
best  of  intentions  may  be  foiled.  Moreover,  Helena 
is  happy." 

"Forget!   Never!    But  we  must  not  speak  of  it  here." 

Maurits  made  his  way  to  Isabella's  side,  where  he 
took  a  seat.  The  young  man  surveyed  the  salon. 
Seldom  has  one  found  himself  in  such  a  peculiar  po- 
sition as  Maurits  at  this  instant.  Everybody  over- 
whelmed him  with  attention  and  flattery.  His  remark- 
able play,  which  all  present  had  witnessed  and  ad- 
mired, was  discussed — the  beauty  of  the  dialogue,  the 
deep  truth  portrayed,  and  the  brilliancy  of  effects  dis- 
played in  the  piece.  Maurits  amused  himself  with 
the  endeavor  to  fathom  the  sincerity  of  the  expressions 
uttered.  Never  had  he  comprehended  so  perfectly  as 
now  the  truth  of  Thorild's  words:  "Language  was 
given  us  for  the  purpose  of  concealing  our  thoughts." 

"Your  play,  Mr.  Sterner,"  said  the  baron,"  is,  beyond 
doubt,  one  of  the  most  interesting  that  has  ever  been 
presented  on  the  world's  stage.  Our  dramatic  writers 
can  take  courage  from  your  success  " 

Maurits  smiled.  "This  interpreted,"  said  he  in  his 
mind,  would  be:  "You  accursed  ink-slinger,  who  have 
employed  your  despicable  art  for  the  purpose  of  pre- 
senting to  the  world  a  picture  of  my  past  life,  I  wish 
you  had  been  hissed  out  of  existence  at  your  debut." 


THE    VISIT 


545 


"How  agreeable,"  said  the  baroness,  "how  more 
than  agreeable  it  is  for  us  to  be  able  to  count  as  one 
of  our  circle  a  person  whose  genius  has  already  won 
for  him,  though  so  young,  the  admiration  of  all 
lovers  of  the  beautiful  art." 

Strange!  Maurits  must  have  possessed  Delphine 
Gay's  marvelous  lorgnette;  for  between  the  words  of 
the  baroness,  he  read  clearly  as  follows:  "I  wish  you 
were  where  pepper  grows  How  provoking  that  we 
must  receive  into  our  house  one  who  believes  himself 
to  have  been  an  object  of  injustice  and  ingratitude  at 
our  hands. " 

"And  let  me  add,"  broke  in  George,  "that  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  again  see  an  old  acquaintance  of  my  happy 
college  days,  for  you  must  know,  mother,  that  Maurits 
and  I  were  the  best  of  friends  at  Upsala." 

"Curse  the  luck!"  Maurits  interpreted,  "that  brought 
this  fellow  here,  the  fool  that  I  duped  so  nicely  at 
Upsala.  It  is  decidedly  embarrassing." 

"Mr.  Sterner,"  said  Eberhard,  who  had  not  spoken 
for  some  time,  "you  have  every  reason  in  the  world  for 
being  surprised  at  my  agitation  a  few  minutes  ago.  I 
can  only  explain  it  by  informing  you  that  I  am  the 
victim,  at  times,  of  nervous  shocks  that  deprive  me 
almost  wholly  of  my  senses.  Moreover,  your  face 
brought  to  mind  a  distressing  incident  in  my  life." 

Isabella  thought  she  saw  Eberhard  shudder  as  he 
uttered  these  words. 

If  Maurits  could  have  interpreted  his  utterances 
faithfully,  the  blood  in  his  veins  would  have  been 
turned  to  ice  in  horror,  but  he  understood  them  thus: 

"He  thinks  it  quite  natural  that  I  should  be  a  prey 
to  violent  feelings  at  sight  of  the  youth  whose  poor 
blind  mother  was  trampled  to  death  under  my  horse's 
hoofs." 


546  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Maurits  was  in  error  this  time.  Eberhard  was  not 
thinking  of  that  occurrence.  He  had  long  ago  forgot- 
ten all  about  it. 

Isabella  was  the  only  one  of  the  company  who  did  not 
give  expression  to  one  of  those  meaningless  speeches 
which  are  known  in  our  language  as  cloakings  for  the 
real  thoughts,  but  she  fixed  upon  the  young  man  a 
glance  that  spoke  with  a  thousand  tongues. 

Maurits  interpreted  this  glance:  "Gratitude  and  in- 
terest;" and  he  seemed  to  read  also  something  more 
that  he  did  not  dare  attempt  to  translate. 

The  striking  resemblance  between  Maurits  and  Eber- 
hard had  not  escaped  the  attention  of  the  company, 
but  rio  one  ventured  an  observation  on  the  subject, 
fearing,  perhaps,  that  he  might  touch  upon  a  delicate 
topic.  The  comparisons  were  much  in  Maurits'  favor, 
however.  It  was,  as  Isabella  wrote  in  her  diary,  little 
more  than  an  expression  that  distinguished  them. 
The  fine  regular  features,  the  high  white  forehead,  the 
black  wavy  hair,  the  prominent  nose,  the  oval-shaped 
haad  and  the  pearl-white  teeth  resembled  each  other 
to  a  remarkable  degree.  Eberhard' s  eyes  were,  how- 
ever, somewhat  darker  than  Maurits',  whose  were  more 
lika  the  famous  chestnut-brown  of  the  Circassian.  As 
like  as  they  were  in  outward  aspect,  however,  the 
spiritual  likeness,  if  we  may  so  put  it,  was  so  different 
that  one  could  not  mistake  them.  The  complexions 
were  pale,  but  Eberhard's  had  assumed  almost  the 
color  of  death,  while  Maurits'  was  that  paleness  that 
the  susceptible  young  lady  terms  interesting,  and 
which,  undeniably,  often  gives  an  expression  of  a  su- 
perior intelligence,  and  betokens  incessant  study  and 
struggles  of  the  mind.  Moreover,  Maurits  could  blush, 
while  not  a  drop  of  blood  ever  made  its  appearance 


THE    VISIT 


547 


in  Eberhard's  face.  The  blood  had  left  his  cheeks 
for  all  time  to  pulsate  in  his  veins,  not  to  flow  calmly 
and  quietly,  but  to  rage  with  a  glow  that  can  be  com- 
pared only  with  molten  lava. 

But  more  than  by  their  complexions,  they  were  dis- 
tinguished by  the  beauty  of  character  so  clearly  de- 
nned in  the  countenance  of  the  one,  and  the  fire  of 
genius  and  sentiment  that  in  unison  flashed  from  his 
eyes;  while  in  that  of  the  other,  there  was  a  coldness, 
a  gloominess,  a  scornful  curl  of  the  lip  and  a  gleam 
of  ravaging  passion  burning  in  his  eyes  that  destroyed 
the  agreeable  in  his  otherwise  regular  features.  Mau- 
rits  was  Milton's  angel  before,  Eberhard  his  Satan 
after  the  fall.  Eberhard's  face  was  like  a  wax  mask 
modeled  after  Maurits'  and  impressed  upon  its  owner 
without  leaving  an  opening,  except  the  eyes,  out  of 
which  the  soul  might  issue. 

One  rarely  sees  greater  contrasts  than  existed  be- 
tween these  two  men,  yet  there  was  a  resemblance,  as 
if  accident  had  amused  herself  with  forming  their  feat- 
ures in  the  same  mold.  To  add  to  the  strange  in  all 
this,  was  the  similarity  of  voices.  The  tone  and  artic- 
ulation were  the  sajme,  but,  as  with  the  faces,  each 
possessed  an  individuality.  In  short,  make  Eberhard 
thirty  years  younger,  and  let  him  pass  through  a  like 
schooling  with  Maurits,  and  who  knows  whether  there 
would  have  been  anything  by  which  they  could  have 
been  distinguished. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   CONSERVATORY 

The  company  which  we  have  gathered  in  the  recep- 
tion hall  at  Liljedahl  was  increased,  later  in  the  even- 
ing, by  the  arrival  of  other  guests,  among  whom  the 
priest  and  his  literary  wife  were  to  be  counted.  They 
had  separated  into  groups, some  wandering  through  the 
garden  and  park,  while  others,  and  among  them  Mau- 
rits,  remained  in  the  salon  to  listen  to  the  music. 
By  degrees,  however,  the  hall  was  deserted.  Maurits 
and  Eberhard  were  the  only  guests  remaining.  The 
former  fettered  by  the  power  of  music,  the  latter  be- 
cause he  had  a  horror  of  after-dark  promenades. 

The  two  brothers  avoided  each  other.  The  count 
sat  in  the  most  distant  corner  of  the  salon,  Maurits 
remaining  near  the  piano  at  the  back  of  Isabella's 
stool. 

The  elder  Baron  Ehrenstam  passed  through  the' 
room.  Eberhard  rose  at  once,  grasped  him  by  the 
arm,  and  accompanied  him  to  his  private  apartments 
where  the  two  gentlemen  locked  themselves  in. 

For  a  few  minutes  Maurits  and  Isabella  found  them- 
selves alone. 

The  young  girl  had  turned  hastily  at  the  noise  made 
by  the  opening  and  closing  of  the  doors,  and  seeing 
Eberhard  follow  her  father,  she  was  seized  with  a  sud- 
den fear. 

548 


THE    CONSERVATORY  549 

The  music  ceased  and,  as  frightened  as  a  young  doe, 
Isabella  started  from  her  stool. 

"In  God's  name,  Miss  Isabella!"  said  Maurits,  "what 
is  wrong!  You  are  pale  and  trembling  " 

"Hush!  Hush!"  said  she,  drawing  a  deep  breath. 
"My  fate  is  to  be  decided  now.  O.  my  God!" 

"Your  fate?" 

"Yes,  yes,  you  do  not  know.  You  are  fortunate  to  be 
ignorant  of  what  birth  and  riches  mean,  by  what  ter- 
rible sufferings  they  are  accompanied." 

"I  do  know,  but  explain  your  utterances." 

"Do  you  know  Count  Stjernekrantz?"  she  asked. 

"Know  him!"  exclaimed  Maurits  vehemently;  "oh, 
yes,  slightly,"  added  he,  checking  himself. 

"Do  you  know  that  he  is  a  monster  of  lusts  and  in- 
dulgences; that  his  crimes  are  weighing  him  down; 
that  his  health  is  destroyed;  that  he  now  drags  out 
his  miserable  life  with  a  'fond  perdu'  upon  all  inner 
worth?  " 

"I  know  it,  but  proceed." 

"Well,  to  that  man  my  parents  would  give  me,  an 
offering,  as  the  heathen  offered  their  children  to 
Moloch.  They  would  give  into  his  embrace  a  flower 
to  be  destroyed  by  his  poisonous  breath." 

"Impossible!  "  cried  Maurits.  "It  cannot,  it  must  not 
be!" 

"Nevertheless,  the)'  are  bargaining  over  me  now  with- 
in yonder  room.  My  father  offers  him  Liljedahl  and 
two  hundred  thousand  dollars  if  he  will  take  me." 

"But  it  is  said  that  the  count  has  a  horror  of  mar- 
ried life.  ' 

"Yes,  but  the  fancy  has  now  taken  him.  O  my 
God!  Who  will  save  me!" 

"I!"  said  Maurits     shortly  and    decidedly. 


550  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"You!" 

"Yes,  be  calm.  You  shall  not  be  that  creature's 
wife. " 

"O,  ought  I  to  believe  you!  You  would  then  be 
giving  me  my  life  a  second  time.  But  how  can  you 
prevent  it?" 

"Have  you  read  a  play  titled  'The  Devil's  Mem- 
oirs?'" asked  Maurits. 

"Yes,"  answered  Isabella  in  surprise,  "but  what  has 
that  play  to  do  with  my  marriage?" 

"Much.  Assume  for  instance  that  I,  as  Robert  in 
that  French  drama,  am  in  possession  of  certain  secrets 
of  sufficient  power  to  influence  the  persons  who  seem 
disposed  to  decide  for  you  your  fate." 

"You  jest!" 

"Assume  that  I  know  things  that  would  embarrass 
them,  that  would  make  them  glad  to  buy  my  silence  at 
any  price. " 

"My  God,  sir!    Whom  do  you  mean?     My  father?" 

"Your  father  less  than  Count  Eberhard."  He  feared 
to  wound  Isabella's  feelings  by  an  intimation  that 
her  father  had  anything  that  he  would  conceal  from 
the  world. 

"But  this  is  not  the  place  for  such  a  discussion. 
We  may  be  disturbed  any  minute.  I  beg  you  only  not 
to  give  yourself  unnecessary  pain.  I  will  watch  over 
your  weltare." 

'In  what  tones  of  assurance  you  speak!"  resumed 
Isabella,  who  felt  a  heavy  burden  lifted  from  her 
breast.  "O,  you  can't  deceive  me!  I  must  believe 
you!  I  will." 

Maurits  laid  his  fingers  hastily  upon  his  lips.  The 
salon  door  opened,  and  George,  with  his  two  friends, 
entered. 


THE   CONSERVATORY  55! 

"So,  ho!"  cried  George,  "here  is  my  learned  sister 
discussing  literature,  I  presume,  with  her  rescuer. 
What  is  the  subject,  Pindar's  songs,  Sophocles'  trag- 
edies, or  Ovid's  'Metamorphoses?'  You  must  know, 
bother  Maurits,  that  Isabella  is  the  Wendela  Skytte 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  She  has  the  Greek  and 
Roman  writers  at  her  fingers'  ends.  Were  she  a  man, 
she  could  take  a  degree  any  da)'." 

"I  have  heard,"  answered  Maurits  seriously,  "that 
your  sister  employs  a  great  deal  of  her  time  with  study,, 
an  occupation  much  more  elevating  and  satisfying 
than  the  dissipation  and  noisy  pleasure  of  the  world. 
And  when  such  a  cultivated  mind,  such  a  remaikable 
knowledge,  is  accompanied  by  a  modesty  such  as  we 
see  in  your  sister,  it  must  arouse  in  the  mind  of  every 
honorable  and  intelligent  person-  a  feeling  of  admira- 
tion and  wonder  as  it  produces  scoffing  and  envy 
among  the  thoughtless  and  ignorant." 

George  bit  his  lips  with  vexation,  while  his  sister 
expressed  her  gratitude  in  an  indescribable  glance. 

After  some  minutes,  during  which  George  had  suc- 
ceeded in  smothering  his  wrath,  he  resumed: 

"You  will  acknowledge.  Maurits,  that  you  were  very 
unbecomingly  uncommunicative  at  Upsala  to  never 
mention  the  accident  that  gives  you  so  great  a  claim 
upon  our  gratitude,  I  never  heard  a  word  of  it  before 
to-day 

"O, "  said  Maurits,  eyeing  him  closely,  "you  know 
very  well  that  you  owe  me  a  greater  debt  in  another 
direction,  and  contracted  since  our  Upsala  days.  We 
must  not  speak  of  that,  however." 

George  did  not  reply.  He  flushed  and  dropped  his 
glance  to  the  floor.  But  his  embarrassment  could  not 
be  called  shame.  George  was  not  one  to  blush  over 


55 2  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

his  misdeeds.  On  the  contrary,  he  boasted  of  them, 
and. he  had  many  times  related  to  his  young  friends 
how  he  duped  the  over-crammed  Upsala  student  who 
was  simple  enough  to  believe  that  Baron  George 
Ehrenstam  would  undertake  the  education  of  a  young 
girl  from  no  other  motive  than  sympathy. 

The  embarrassment  experienced  at  this  instant  was 
only  such  as  comes  over  every  deceiver,  when  he  is 
unexpectedly  brought  face  to  face  with  the  victim  of 
his  deception.  But  it  was  not  of  long  duration. 
George  lifted  his  head  again  quite  self-possessed  and 
replied  coldly: 

"If  you  have  anything  for  which  you  would  upbraid 
me,  this  is  neither  the  time  nor  the  place.  Will  you 
join  us  in  a  game?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Maurits,  "I  do  not  play.  I 
was  about  to  visit  the  garden  and  conservatory." 

"Allow  me  to  accompany  you,"  said  Isabella,  "it  is 
so  warm  and  sultry  in  the  house." 

Let  us  enter  the  baron's  private  rooms,  which  are 
situated  at  one  end  of  the  salon,  while  at  the  other,  a 
long  row  of  drawing  rooms,  sleeping  apartments  and 
cabinets  are  arranged. 

In  the  inner  of  the  baron's  two  rooms,  Eberhard  had 
cast  himself  down  upon  a  sofa,  and  before  him  stood 
the  baron  with  folded  arms. 

"I  tell  you,  my  dear  count,  you  must  help  me  to 
abate  this  nuisance.  I  can't  directly  forbid  Holmer's 
teaching  these  young  ones,  but  if  we,  who  are  the 
principal  property  owners  in  the  neighborhood,  hold 
together,  we  can  very  soon  tumble  his  little  scheme 
about  his  head.  You  must  not  look  upon  the  matter 
with  indifference.  It  is  a  subject  of  incalculable 


THE   CONSERVATORY  553 

weight,  for  only  by  holding  the  peasantry  in  ignorance 
can  we  hope  to  control  them  and  lead  them  in  the  way 
we  would  have  them  go.  Consider  what  a  pretty 
plight  we  shall  be  in  if  through  the  education  they 
may  receive,  this  obstinate  pack  arrive  at  where  they 
imagine  they  can  think  for  themselves.  You  must, 
therefore,  keep  your  tenants  from  sending  their  chil- 
dren to  this  damnable  school." 

"I  will  speak  to  my  inspector  about  it,"  said  Eber- 
hard.  I!He  will  easily  contrive  some  means  of  fright- 
ening them  from  it." 

'Good!1  resumed  the  baron.  "We  have  the  priest 
on  our  side  also,  and  he  has  promised  to  aid  us  I,  for 
my  part,  have  already  had  conveyed  to  my  tenants  an 
intimation  that  I  intend  to  evict  them,  and  supply 
their  places  with  others  if  they  persist  in  sending 
their  children  to  Marielund.  It  has  done  good  work 
already,  and  the  number  of  that  fool's  pupils  has  di- 
minished noticeably.  We  must,  for  principle's  sake, 
pull  up  this  evil  by  the  root." 

"Nothing  is  simpler,  with  the  owners  of  Liljedahl 
and  Odensvik  working  together, "  said  Eberhard.  "But 
let  us  dismiss  this  subject  for  the  present.  I  have 
something  of  quite  another  character  to  discuss  with 
you." 

"Ah,  indeed!'1    exclaimed  the  baron  curiously. 

"Some  years  ago,  you  offered  me  the  hand  of  your 
daughter.  Hitherto,  I  have  not  been  disposed  to  look 
favorably  upon  the  proposal,  because  I  have  always 
dreaded  a  yoke  on  my  freedom.  In  a  word,  I  have 
never  felt  inclined  to  marry." 

"And  now?"  inquired  the  baron  eagerly. 

"Mow,  I  have  no  objections  to  reopening  the  nego- 
tiations if  you  are  to-day  of  the  same  mind  as  then. 


554  THE  PLAY  OF  FATE 

Miss  Isabella's  talents,  virtues  and  graces  have  quite 
captivated  me,  and  overcome  my  opposition  to  the 
married  state.  Furthermore,  I  am  beginning  to  grow 
weary  of  the  life  I  have  been  living,  and  am  disposed 
to  be  serious,  practical,  attend  to  my  business,  and, 
in  fine,  settle  down  and  marry." 

"I  congratulate  you  with  all  my  heart  that  you  have 
arrived  at  such  a  sensible  resolution!  "  ejaculated  the 
baron,  hardly  able  to  conceal  his  satisfaction.  "A 
manly  determination,  nobly  uttered.  I  have  long  ex- 
pected you  to  arrive  at  this,  and  have  therefore  rejected 
all  of  the  many  proposals  that  have  been  made.  It  has 
been  the  pet  scheme  of  my  life  to  wed  my  daughter  to 
you,  and  thereby  provide  for  her  future.1' 

"You  consent,  then?" 

"With  all  my  heart,  and  I  hope  the  dower  she  is  to 
receive,  if  not  equal  to  your  wealth,  will  be  satisfac- 
tory to  you.  I  am  old  now,  and  can't  live  long.  Af- 
ter my  death,  Isabella  is  to  receive  Liljedahl,  with  the 
provision  that  it  is  to  be  Cecilia's  home  while  she 
may  live.  Besides,  I  will  give  her,  on  her  wedding- 
day,  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  cash,  and  at  my 
death  she  is  to  receive  another  equal  sum.  Are  you 
content?" 

"Perfectly,"  said  Eberhard,  whose  utmost  expecta- 
tions were  more  than  realized.  "I  had  no  idea  you 
were  so  rich.  But  that  is  apart  from  the  subject. 
The  most  important  part  of  the  affair  now  is  to  gain 
your  daughter's  consent." 

"Can  you  have  a  doubt  about  her  consent,  when  it 
is  I  that  am  giving  her  in  marriage?"  said  the  baron 
with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "Then,  too,  I  am  quite 
certain  she  has  not  yet  formed  an  attachment  for  any 
one,  wherefore  she  will  be  be  the  more  ready  to  yield 


THE   CONSERVATORY  555 

to  her  father's  commands.  I  will  speak  with  her  in 
the  morning  about  it." 

"But  if  she  refuses?" 

"Refuses!"  exclaimed  the  baron  in  tones  of  the  ut- 
most surprise,  "how  can  you  seriously  ask  such  a  ques- 
tion? Because  I  have  in  many  things  allowed  my 
son  full  rein,  you  must  not  conclude  that  I  have  reared 
my  daughter  in  the  same  manner.  Moreover,  her  tal- 
ents and  knowledge  notwithstanding,  she  possesses 
anything  but  bravery  and  an  obstinate  disposition. 
She  will  fear  my  wrath." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  Eberhard,  who  had  pene- 
trated Isabella's  character  with  greater  accuracy  than 
either  of  her  parents;  "I  fear  the  contrary." 

"Leave  it  to  me,"  said  the  baron  impatiently.  "The 
business  is  settled;"  and  to  seal  the  bargain,  the  two 
men  shook  hands  heartily. 

While  Isabella's  fate  was  thus  determined,  she,  her 
apprehensions  quieted  by  Maurits'  assuring  words, 
was  wandering  at  his  side  through  the  shady  walks  of 
the  beautiful  garden. 

Baroness  Ehrenstam,  with  the  rest  of  her  guests, 
had  halted  at  one  of  the  many  inviting  arbors  where- 
in she  was  seated  engaged  in  a  lively  literary  discussion 
with  Madame  Washolm,  which  was  drunk  in  with 
bated  breath  by  the  priest  and  two  elderly  dames 
of  the  company,  recently  added  guests  of  the  mansion. 

Neither  Maurits  nor  Isabella  cared  to  join  this  com- 
pany. Mutely  they  wandered  side  by  side,  their  only 
speech  the  language  of  the  eyes.  The  evening  sun 
sinking  in  the  lake;  the  birds  singing  in  the  trees; 
the  flowers  emitting  their  fragrance  at  their  feet;  the 
fountain's  glittering  drops  purling  in  the  urn  watched 


556  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

by  naiads;  nature's  holy  quiet,  grandeur  and  majesty; 
all  these  spoke  with  a  thousand  tongues  love's  per- 
suasive, transporting  language  that  feeble  words  are 
powerless  to  express.  Therefore,  they  were  silent, 
knowing  that,  at  a  time  such  as  this,  their  souls  were 
joined  in  feelings  too  deep,  too  holy  to  be  interpreted 
by  human  lips.  Thus  they  had  reached  the  end  of 
the  garden  where  the  conservatory  was  located;  the 
door  stood  open,  for  the  gardener  was  within  tending 
his  plants. 

"You  wished  to  see  the  conservatory, "  said  Isabella, 
breaking  the  silence,  "let  us  enter." 

An  exclamation  of  admiration  and  joy  escaped  Mau- 
rits  as  he  stepped  into  this  flower  world  where  the  no- 
bles of  Flora's  kingdom,  nodding  upon  their  stalks, 
emitted  their  fragrance  in  myriad  variety.  It  was  as  if 
he  had  been  suddenly  transported  to  a  tropical  clime 
and  was  wandering  among  its  groves  of  palms,  figs 
and  pomegranates.  The  most  magnificent  colors, 
deftly  handled  by  the  greatest  of  all  painters,  Nature, 
charmed  his  eyes.  He  paused,  and  held  his  breath 
as  if  expecting  to  hear  the  sweet  notes  of  the  night- 
ingale. 

"Well,"  said  Isabella,  who  was  regarding  him  with 
a  smile,  "what  do  you  think  of  this  world?  We  are 
in  the  kingdom  of  the  beautiful,  are  we  not?" 

"And  what  a  kingdom!"  exclaimed  Maurits,  seating 
himself  in  the  shade  of  an  almond  tree.  "Who  could 
not  here  fancy  himself  under  the  beautiful  sky  of  Italy, 
or  transported  to  Mahomet's  paradise,  and  you  one  of 
the  houris,  Isabella!  " 

"No,  no!  You  must  not  dream  such  dreams,  my 
dear  sir,"  said  Isabella,  smiling  sadly.  "Here  on 
earth,  the  only  blooming  paradise  is  in  a  hot-house; 


THE    CONSERVATORY  557 

and  we,  what  are  we  but  plants  removed  from  our 
home-land  to  be  cultivated,  to  fade  and  die  at  last  in 
a  strange  soil!" 

"O  Isabella!"  cried  Maurits  earnestly,  "do  not  say 
so.  The  beautiful  does  not  fade  -does  not  die--for 
it  is  imperishable.  It  is  born  of  heaven,  is  the  issue 
thereof,  but  it  can  bud  and  blossom,  nevertheless,  even 
here  on  the  earth.  To  us  both,  it  has  opened  its  im- 
measurable kingdom  where  eternal  spring  breezes  mur- 
mur in  the  tree-tops.  We  have  seen  its  figures  peep 
forth,  its  rays  reflected  from  the  mirror  of  art,  and  we 
have  plucked  its  flowers  and  pressed  them  to  our 
hearts.  These  flowers  cannot  die,  their  perfume  can 
never  be  dissipated.  The  world  we  bear  within  us  is 
our  own,  death  cannot  deprive  us  of  it." 

"But  this  world,"  returned  the  young  woman,  "O! 
how  limited  by  exterior  restraints;  how  often  obscured 
by  heavy  clouds  of  reality!  You  who  have  lived  your 
rich  life  through  to  this  without  being  restrained  by 
the  fetters  of  dependence,  such  as  hold  my  spirit  in 
check,  you  may  not  feel  as  I — but,  woe  is  me!  With 
me  how  different!  " 

Here  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  from  be- 
tween her  fingers,  Maurits  saw  several  tears  chase  each 
other. 

"Do  not  weep,  Isabella,"  Maurits  pleaded  in  tones 
as  mild,  as  tender  as  the  west  wind  whispering  among 
the  flowers  of  the  meadow.  "O,  do  not  weep  so.  Even 
I  have  been  restrained  by  fetters,  though  of  another 
kind  from  yours.  Mine  were  not  gilded,  they  were 
of  iron,  for  they  were  the  fetters  of  poverty.  How 
strange  that  we  both— we  who  have  dreamed  the  same 
dreams,  hunted  the  same  images,  who  have  sought 
with  the  same  unquenchable  yearning,  and  loved  the 


558  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

beautiful — how  strange  that  \ve  nave  been  standing  at 
opposite  and  extreme  ends  of  the  human  chain,  each 
bewailing  his  lot.  The  gleam  of  riches  and  birth,  the 
restraints  of  conventionalities,  the  emptiness  of  your 
surroundings  and  the  scoffing  of  fools,  have  destroyed 
many  illusions  and  laid  obstacles  in  the  way  of  the 
free  unfolding  of  your  spirit.  On  the  other  hand," 
continued  he  with  a  smile,  "I  have  had  nothing  of 
this  sort  to  deplore.  Reality  has  presented  to  me 
afflictions;  it  has  held  out  to  me  poverty's  chalice,  and 
I  have  emptied  it  to  the  very  bottom,  knowing  well 
that  man  must  suffer  much  if  he  will  enjoy  the  fruits 
of  victory.  But  what  signify  these  fetters,  Isabella? 
There  come  times  in  one's  life  during  which  he  feels 
himself  free,  periods  of  blessedness  when  the  strings 
on  the  lyre  of  thought  and  feeling  vibrate  without  hin- 
drance. There  come  hours  such  as  these,  when  the 
heart  expands  because  it  feels  within  the  fragrance 
of  the  beautiful;  when  the  soul  swells  with  delight 
because  it  may  prove  its  wings  in  a  purer  air.  Well, 
why  should  we  bewail  our  lot?" 

"O  Maurits!"  exclaimed  Isabella  in  ecstasy,  "how 
I  love  your  day-dreams;  how  I  feel  at  this  instant  that 
our  souls  are  very  much  akin.  Yes,  you  are  right, 
life's  cup  is  bitter;  but  there  are  hours,  nevertheless, 
when  one  feels  proud  and  free;  when  the  restraint  of 
the  fetters  is  not  felt.  You  have  uttered  what  my  soul 
has  foreseen  and  dreamed,  though  it  could  not  find 
words  with  which  to  interpret  its  dreams." 

She  stooped  down  over  him,  and  fastened  a  camellia 
into  the  button-hole  of  his  coat.  When  he  looked  up 
again  their  glances  rested  on  each  other,  and  around 
them  bloomed  a  flora  as  beautiful,  as  charming,  as  it 
blooms  in  a  southern  paradise. 


THE   CONSERVATORY  559 

Happy  pair!  Though  earth  and  all  had  gone  up  in 
smoke,  they  would  not  have  seen  the  flames,  and 
though  the  heavens  had  been  hurled  to  earth,  they 
would  not  have  heard  the  fall. 

From  this  instant  the  faith  of  Maurits  and  Isabella 
was  plighted,  though  no  word  was  added  to  the  dumb 
utterances  of  the  eyes. 

The  gardener,  who  had  been  away  after  water  with 
which  to  sprinkle  the  plants,  returned  at  this  point  to 
disturb  the  happy  dreams  of  the  young  couple. 

"Let  us  return,"  said  Isabella,  "our  absence  may 
cause  comment." 

Maurits  sighed  and  rose.  Proffering  her  his  arm, 
they  retraced  their  steps  to  join  the  others. 

"Do  you  see  that  tall  lady  coming  there  in  company 
with  my  mother?"  asked  Isabella. 
"Yes,  who  is  .she?" 

"She  is  the  wife  of  the  priest  Washolm,  a  woman 
who  never  discourses  upon  nor  discusses  anything  but 
literature.  She  will  be  delighted  to  make  your  ac- 
quaintance. " 

"No,  spare  me!"  Maurits  pleaded.  "Such  discus- 
sions are  detestable  to  me.  " 

"But  it  cannot  be  helped,"  said  Isabella  in  a  roguish 
manner.      "She  has  already  caught  sight  of    us,  and  is 
bearing  down  upon  us  under  full  sail.      She  looks  upon 
you  as  excellent  game  for  the  rest  of  the    evening." 
"O  Isabella!     How  cruel  you  can  be!" 
His  companion  laughed,  and    when    a  few    minutes 
later,  they  met,  Maurits  was  presented    by  the    baron- 
ess to  the  learned  woman. 

"What  do  I  hear!"  exclaimed  Madame  Washolm. 
"Mr.  Sterner!  O,  so  agreeable  to  be  permitted  the 
honor  of  your  acquaintance.  You  have  upon  your  con- 


560  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

science,  sir,  that  you  caused  me  many  a  sleepless 
night.  " 

"I?" 

"Yes;  for  your  interesting  play,  which  I  have  read 
and  re-read  with  rapture,  has  often  kept  me  awake 
until  far  into  the  morning  hours.  I  wished  then  so 
much  to  know  you,  and  to  have  the  opportunity  of 
discussing  the  subject  with  you  a  little.  Those  scenes 
brought  tears  to  my  eyes  at  times,  then  again  I  was 
positively  out  of  patience  with  you.  To  what  cruel 
sufferings  you  subjected  your  Isabella." 

"You  embarrass  me,  madame,"  said  Maurits  smiling. 
"Do  you  not  know  that  one  should  not  criticise  an 
author  in  his  presence?" 

"That  I  never  heard,  and,  though  I  admire  your 
modesty,  I  feel  that  talent  should  be  encouraged. 
You  are  gifted,  highly  gifted,  sir!  Your  work  will 
compare  well  with  the  great  Shakespeare  whom  you  re- 
semble in  many  respects,  though  it  may  be  you  do  not 
possess  an  equal  knowledge  of  human  nature,  which, 
however,  is  not  to  be  expected  in  an  author  so  young." 

Isabella  laughed  in  her  sleeve,  and  the  baroness  bit 
her  lips  to  suppress  an  outburst.  Maurits  fidgeted  and 
perspired,  heartily  wishing  all  blue  stockings  in  pur- 
gatory, but  it  availed  him  nothing.  Madame  Was- 
holm  had  persuaded  herself  that  she  must  "discuss  lit- 
erature" with  the  young  man,  and  nothing  could  re- 
strain her.  Maurits,  all  too  good-hearted  to  make  sport 
of  her,  resigned  himself  to  the  torture  of  her  oratory, 
but  finally,  when  the  woman  had  talked  herself  tired, 
discovering  that  she  was  getting  only  monosyllabic, 
if  any,  response  to  her  effusions,  she  ceased  abruptly, 
and  Maurits,  availing  himself  cf  the  opportunity  to 
make  his  escape,  rose  hastily  and  made  his  way  from 


THE   CONSERVATORY  561 

the  arbor.  Isabella  had  gone  in  advance,  but  Mau- 
rits  soon  overtook  her  at  the  garden  gate. 

"Well,"  said  Isabella,  "what  do  you'  think  of  our 
learned  guest?" 

"She  is  terrible!"  ejaculated  Maurits  in  mock  dis- 
tress. "I  say  with  Tegner  and  Hammerspik,  <O,  that 
she  were  caged.'" 

"Come,  let  us  go  in,"  said  Isabella  laughing,  "and 
I  will  play  for  you.  You  are  fond  of  music,  are  you 
not?" 

"Yes,  quite  so— at  least  if  it  be  you  who  produce 
it." 

As  they  passed  through  the  garden  on  their  way  to 
the  house,  they  met  Baron  Ehrenstam  and  Eberhard 
walking  in  the  direction  of  the  park.  Isabella  trembled 
in  horror  as  she  observed  Eberhard' s  fiery  glance  fixed 
upon  her.  and  hastened  rapidly  past. 

"You  are  to  say  nothing  to  your  daughter, "  said  Eb- 
erhard softly  to  the  baron,  "before  I  have  spoken  with 
her. " 

"As  you  will,"  assented  the  baron,  "but  what  is 
done,  ought  to  be  done  soon." 

When  Isabella  entered  her  room,  after  the  guests 
had  departed,  she  opened  her  window  to  allow  the 
fresh  air  to  cool  her  burning  cheeks. 

"Yes,"  said  she  to  herself,  "my  fate  is  sealed.  I 
love.  I  love  for  the  first  time,  with  all  the  warmth  of 
youth,  witli  the  strength  of  a  soul  that  has  these  long 
years  groped  through  life  vainly  seeking  the  idol  of 
its  dreams.  It  is  not  a  gentle  fire  that  burns  within 
me;  it  is  not  a  love  that  will  be  resigned;  it  is  a 
passion  whose  flames  will  destroy  me  if  my  love  is 
unrequited  Unrequited!  Ah!  no,  I  need  not  fear 


562  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

that.  Did  I  not  read  in  his  eyes  a  reflection  of  inex- 
pressible blessedness?  Those  eyes  did  not  deceive, 
they  could  not  deceive. 

"Holmer  was  right.  Love  will  not  love  only,  it  will 
possess.  I  feel  at  this  moment  that  there  is  for  me 
no  other  choice  than  him  or  death.  And  if  my  father 
should  undertake  to  separate  us,  I  will  follow  him 
over  laud  and  sea — seek  him  in  the  snow-covered 
steppes  of  the  north,  or  in  the  burning  deserts  of 
Africa.  Mine  is  a  love  strong  enough  to  sacrifice 
everything.  You  may  come  now,  my  father,  and  com- 
mand me  to  give  my  hand  to  another.  I  will  defy 
you,  for  my  love  will  give  me  strength.  Drive  me 
hence,  disinherit  me,  curse  me,  I  will  suffer  all  with- 
out complaint,  without  a  murmur,  for  I  am  rich  enough 
with  my  love.  Art  and  knowledge,  though  I  have 
loved  them  much,  have  failed  to  fill  my  soul  to  satis- 
faction; I  felt  a  void  that  tormented  me,  but  this 
void  is  now  filled  with  love.  O  God,  I  thank  you," 
continued  the  young  woman,  raising  her  eyes  toward 
the  darkened  sky,  'I  thank  you  for  having  permitted 
me  to  find  a  heart  that  understands  rne,  a  soul  to  love, 
to  adore,  to  reverence.  I  thank  you  that  you  have 
allowed  the  feeling  to  dawn  in  my  breast  that  elevates 
man  to  a  likeness  with  the  gods.  The  rapture  of  this 
feeling  intoxicates  me,  while  it  lifts  my  heart,  at  the 
same  time,  up  to  Thee." 

Isabella  closed  the  window  and  seated  herself  at 
the  piano,  where  she  mused  until  the  hour  was  past 
midnight. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  WOOING 

Some  days  had  passed,  during  which  Maurits  had 
not  renewed  his  visit  to  Liljedahl,  nor  had  Count 
Eberhard,  now  an  almost  daily  visitor  at  the  mansion, 
yet  unbosomed  himself. 

Isabella  had  begun  to  breathe  easier.  "God  grant," 
thought  she,  "that  he  say  nothing.  Possibly  he  has 
given  up  his  contemplated  marriage." 

She  deceived  herself.  One  evening,  a  few  days 
later,  Eberhard  surprised  her  as  she  was  sitting  near 
the  brook  reading.  She  trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf 
as  he  took  a  seat  by  her  side. 

"What  are  you  reading?"  asked  the  count,  in  order 
to  open  the  conversation. 

"Stagnelius1  play,   'The  Martyrs.'" 

"I  have  not  read  it.      Of  what  does  it  treat?" 

"Of  a  young  woman  who  sacrificed  everything — 
father,  mother,  brother  and  all,  and  finally  her  own 
life — for  her  love." 

"Her  love!" 

"Yes,  though  her  love  was  not  for  anything  of  earth, 
but  of  heaven. " 

"It  was  then  for  her  faith  she  sacrificed  herself," 
said  Eberhard. 

"As  you  please,  sir.  But  her  faith  was  love,  and  her 
love  faith. " 

"My  dear  Miss  Isabella,"  said    Eberhard    in    a  low 

563 


564  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

voice,  after  a  short  silence,  "there  was  a  time  when  I 
was  so  foolish  as  not  to  believe  in  love.  I  had  so 
hardened  my  heayt  against  the  folly,  as  it  seemed  to 
me,  that  I  resolved  never  to  allow  the  image  of  woman 
to  enter  it.  This  presumption  has  been  severely  pun- 
ished. A  beautiful  image  has  by  degrees  gained  in- 
disputable possession,  notwithstanding.  I  speak  se- 
riously, Miss  Ehrenstam,"  said  he,  noticing  an  incli- 
nation on  her  part  to  rise  and  leave  him,  "and  you 
cannot  be  so  cruel  as  to  deny  me  your  attention.  I 
may  at  least  claim  the  right  to  be  heard." 

"What  do  you  wish  to  say,  sir  count?"  said  Isabella, 
a  deathly  pallor  overspreading  her  face,  and  her  heart 
beating  so  with  anxiety  as  to  threaten  to  leap  from 
her  breast. 

'I  wish  to  say  that  I  love  you!  Love  you  passion- 
ately, with  such  a  passion  that  life  without  you  will 
not  be  worth  the  living.  I  have  been  gloomy,  melan- 
choly, and  anything  but  a  lover  of  my  fellows,  I  con- 
fess. You,  you  alone  have  the  power  to  give  my  soul 
light,  to  dispel  the  cloud  that  overcasts  my  heaven. 
On  my  knees  I  plead  for  your  love!  My  fate  I  lay 
at  your  feet  Isabella,  be  my  wife." 

At  this  instant,  kneeling  at  the  girl's  feet,  Eberhard 
was  diabolically  handsome.  *  The  mask  of  cold  selfish- 
ness, usually  so  clearly  defined  in  his  face,  seemed  for 
an  instant  to  have  disappeared.  The  features  were 
now  enlivened  by  a  passion  that  caused  Isabella  to 
draw  herself  together  in  terror.  By  a  strong  effort  of 
the  will  she  mastered  her  feelings,  however,  and 
forced  herself  into  a  calm  in  order  to  gain  time  for  re- 
flection and  proper  utterance  in  this,  the  crisis  of  her 
life. 

"Rise,  sir,    and  let    us    speak   calmly  and  seriously 


THE  WOOING  565 

upon  this  subject,"  said  she.  "If  you  do  not  obey  me 
instantly,  I  will  leave  you  at  once,  and  without  an- 
swer. " 

Eberhard  rose  and  resumed  his  seat  at  her  side. 

''Sir  count,"  began  Isabella,  with  undisguised  irony 
in  her  tones,  "I  must  confess  that  you  have  surprised 
me.  Not  with  your  declaration,  for  I  was  already 
aware  that  I  might  expect  that,  but  at  the  manner  of 
its  presentation.  You,  you,  Count  Stjernekrantz,  on 
your  knees  at  the  feet  of  a  woman!  You,  the  sybarite, 
the  cold,  grim  hater  of  mankind,  you  on  your  knees! 
You  have  quite  departed  from  your  usual  role,  Count 
Eberhard,  to  play  a  false  one;  or  perhaps  I  mistake. 
It  may  be  your  natural  character,  and  your  moroseness 
and  contempt  for  the  world  only  affected." 

"You  are  cruel,  my  lady,"  said  Eberhard,  with  a 
dogged  contraction  of  his  brows.  "Does  not  my  open 
declaration  deserve  a  better  reply  than  your  biting 
scorn?" 

"Yes,  it  does,  and  you  shall  have  it,  sir  count," 
said  Isabella  firmly,  "but  you  must  first  promise  to 
be  content  with  my  answer,  be  it  what  it  may.  Do 
you  assent?  " 

"Even  these  words  seem  to  tell  me  I  am  rejected. 
I  need  not  hear  more  then,"  said  the  count,  rising  as 
if  about  to  depart. 

"No,  for  God's  sake,  remain!"  cried  Isabella,  "you 
must  hear  what  I  have  to  say." 

The  count  resumed  his  seat. 

"Hear  me,"  said  Isabella.  "I  do  not  love  you,  count, 
and  I  tell  you  so  frankly.  Furthermore,  I  cannot  love 
you.  Would  you  have  for  a  wife  one  whose  heart 
could  never  be  yours?" 

"Never!"  repeated  the  count  with  subdued  anger. 
"O,  reconsider  your  words." 


566  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"No,  not  a  syllable,  and  I  declare,  moreover,  that  I 
would  rather  suffer  anything  than  accompany  you  to 
the  altar." 

"We  s.iall  see,"  said  the  count,  with  a  look  that 
chased  the  blood  from  his  companion's  cheeks. 

"You  mean  to  appeal  to  my  father,  I  am  aware," 
said  Isabella  in  a  voice  trembling  with  emotion.  "Dis- 
covering that  I  am  not  inclined  to  willingly  offer  my- 
self up  to  you,  you  will  solicit  the  authority  of  my 
parents.  But  mark  well  what  I  have  to  say,  sir  count, 
it  will  avail  you  nothing.  Nothing  more,  certainly, 
than  to  make  me  unhappy,  and  satisfy  your  revenge. 
My  father  may  curse  and  disinherit  me,  it  is  true,  but 
do  not  think  that  even  that  will  move  me  from  my 
determination.  I  swear,  and  you  may  believe  my  oath, 
that  before  I  will  become  Countess  Stjernekrantz,  I 
will  beg  my  bread  from  door  to  door,  or  end  my 
troubles  down  there,"  pointing  to  the  lake  whose  broad 
surface  was  spread  out  before  them. 

"You  love  another,  then?"  inquired  Eberhard,  with 
a  look  of  mingled  hate  and  jealousy.  "I  have  sus- 
pected as  much.  You  are  not  heart  free." 

"Upon  this  point,  I  am  under  no  obligation  to  en- 
lighten you,"  said  Isabella,  the  blood  mounting  to  her 
cheeks.  "It  is  enough  for  you  to  know  that  I  can 
never  love  you." 

"You  are  frank,  at  least,  my  lady, "  replied  Eberhard 
bitterly. 

"Yes,  it  is  my  duty  to  be  clear,  beyond  a  possibility 
of  your  misunderstanding  me,  in  order  that  you  may 
not  be  allowed  the  opportunity  to  say  at  some  future 
time  that  I  gave  you  even  a  little  hope.  But  listen 
to  me  further,  sir  count.  It  is  I  who  would  now 
plead.  Show  yourself  a  man  of  honor,  and  do  not 


THE   WOOING  567 

seek  to  possess  my  hand,  knowing  that  my  heart  can- 
not go  with  it.  What  would  it  profit  you  if  I  were 
ca^t  off  by  my  father?  I  have  already  told  you  that  I 
would  rather  plunge  into  the  lake  down  there  than  be 
your  wife.  O,  be  generous,  then!  Have  pity!  Do 
not  sunder  wholly  the  hearts  of  father  and  daughter. 
Tell  him  that  you  have  abandoned  your  project,  that 
you  mistook  your  feelings.  Say  what  you  will  so  long 
as  you  do  not  urge  his  interference  in  your  behalf. 
Honor  forbids  you  to  do  such  a  thing." 

"Honor!  "  cried  the  count,  springing  to  his  feet,  and 
with  folded  arms  and  wrinkled  brow,  glaring  at  her 
fiercely;  "what  does  a  passion  such  as  mine  care  about 
honor!  No,  Isabella,  you  must  be  mine  or  die.  Do 
not  delude  yourself  with  false  hopes,  for  rather  than 
see  you  the  wife  of  another,  I  would  myself  hurl  you 
into  the  waters  below  there." 

'Sir  count,  you  forget  yourself!"  exclaimed  Isabella 
haughtily,  stepping  back  a  few  paces  as  if  to  depart. 

Bat  he  grasped  her  by  the  dress  •  and  detained  her. 

"Your  last  word,  Miss  Isabella,"  he  broke  forth, 
"your  last  word!" 

"No!  a  thousand  times  no!"  cried  Isabella,  her 
cheeks  bright  with  the  blood  of  anger.  Thereupon 
she  freed  herself  and  fled,  swift  as  a  gazelle,  toward 
the  house. 

Eberhard  remained  standing,  silent,  moody.  "Ha!" 
cried  he  finally,  gritting  his  teeth  in  rage,  "she  shall 
pay  dearly  for  this!  She  loves  this  playwright  who  is 
so  like— him.  But  wos  to  both  of  them!  The  iron 
hand  of  fate  shall  smite  them!  I  will  crush  them! 
But  how?"  continued  he,  after  some  minutes  of  deep 
meditation.  "How?  That  is  the  question." 

Thoughtful  and  brooding,  he  bent  his  steps  toward 
the  park. 


tj68  THE    PLAY    OF    FATK 

Upon  a  bench  standing  in  the  shadow  of  an  oak, 
Eberhard  noticed  an  old  man  sitting,  with  a  small 
knapsack  by  his  side.  He  was  clad  in  rags,  and  ap- 
peared to  be  a- wandering  tradesman,  although  his  red 
hair  and  unkempt  beard  gave  his  iace  a  wild,  almost 
villainous  expression. 

Eberhard  paused  before  him,  and'  regarded  him 
keenly. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  inquired. 

"As  you  see,   sir,"  said  the  man,    "I  am  resting." 

"Is  it  necessary  that  such  a  creature  as  you  should 
seek  a  resting  place  in  a  gentleman's  park?  Why  do 
you  not  keep  to  your  wallow  with  the  other  swine  in 
the  roadside  ditch?  That  ought  to  be  good  enough 
for  you. " 

"The  day  is  warm,  and  I  sought  a  cool  place,"  re- 
plied the  man.  "I  was  not  aware  that  anyone  could 
begrudge  a  poor  being  the  shade  of  a  tree." 

"What  is  the  matter  here?"    inquired    George,  who 
with  his  two    frien'ds,  the    lieutenant    and    baron,  had 
just  reached  the  spot  by  another    path.      "What    does 
this  knight  of  the  road  here?" 

"Can  you  believe  it,"  said  Eberhard  scornfully, 
"he  wishes  to  rest  in  the  shade;  to  enjoy  the  cool 
breeze,  he  says." 

"Do  you  think  this  park  was  made  for  beggars  and 
vagabonds?"  said  George  contemptuously.  "Get  your- 
self gone  from  here!  " 

"You  will  drive  me  out  then?"  said  the  beggar,  ris- 
ing and  casting  a  fierce  look  at  the  young  man. 

"Yes,  villain!  Get  out!  Mauvais  sujet,"  shouted 
George  harshly.  "And  if  I  catch  you  here  again,  look 
out  for  your  back!" 

The  beggar  muttered  something    between    his  teeth 


THE  WOOING  569 

that  did  not  reach  George's  ears,  took  his  little  pack 
and  departed.  Arriving  at  the  high-road,  -he  sat  down 
on  the  bank  of  the  roadside  ditch. 

"They  must  all  go,"  said  he  to  himseH.  "There  is 
no  God  to  avenge  me,  so  I  must  take  my  own  revenge. 
I  have  hesitated  long,  but  I  am  now  resolved.  Had 
I  found  my  daughter,  my  long-lost  Helena,  pure  and 
innocent,  the  spirit  of  reconciliation  would  have  come 
upon  me,  perhaps;  but  to  find  her  his  mistress,  oh!  it 
is  too  much!  If  I  did  not  live  for  revenge,  I  would 
kill  myself  on  this  spot.  George,  Isabella,  you  as 
well  as  your  parents,  shall  fall  victims  to  my  revenge. 
I  will  begin  with  you." 

"Well,  my  dear  count,"  said  Baron  Ehrenstam,  as 
Eberhard,  later  in  the  evening,  entered  the  room, 
"have  yon  discussed  the  matter  with  her?" 

"Yes." 

"And  -what  was  her  answer?" 

"That  she  would  rather  die  than  become  my  wife. 
That  nothing  can  induce  her  to  be." 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed  the  baron  vehemently,  "did  she 
really  say  so?" 

"Word  for  word." 

"Well,  she  shall  see.  She  will  creep  to  the  cross, 
I  think,  when  I  begin  to  labor  with  her." 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  in  error,  my  dear  baron.  Your 
daughter  is  not  that  timorous,  easily  frightened  dove 
you  imagine  her.  She  has  a  will  of  her  own,  as  you 
are  certain  to  rind,  and  she  is  not  likely  to  yield  as 
readily  as  you  seem  to  think." 

1  So,  ho!  Is  that  so!  It  were  the  first  time  it  ever 
happened  then." 

"This  is  a  matter  that  concerns  her  future,  and  you 
will  see  an  unlooked-for  display  of  courage." 


570  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"But  just  for  the  same  reason,  I  will    be  more  than 

usually  firm,"  yelled  the  baron  in  a  rage,  "and  woe  to 

her  if  she  dares  to  disobey  me!  " 

"What  will  you  do  in  case  she  does    disobey  you?" 
"O,  I  will  find  some  means  of  subduing  her." 
"1  would  know  what  means  you  intend    to  employ." 
"I  would     drive     a  disobedient    daughter    from    my 

house — curse  her,  disinherit    her.      You  know  me,  and 

you  know  that  I  am  as  firm  as  a  rock." 

A  flash  of  triumph  lighted  Eberhard's  dark  features. 

He  would  be  revenged  on  the  proud  creature  who  had 

dared  to  reject  his  offer. 

"When  will  you  talk  with  her?"  he  asked. 

"To  morrow  noon  you    shall  hear  my   final  answer," 

said  the  baron.      "Meantime,  you    may    go    calmly  on 

with  your  wedding  preparations." 
"Hem!      We  shall  see." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

FATHER,  MOTHER  AND  BROTHER 

"Isabella,"  said  Baron  Ehrenstam  the  following 
morning,  when  his  daughter,  answering  his  summons, 
entered  his  private  room,  "be  seated.  I  have  some- 
thing I  would  say  to  you." 

Isabella,  trembling,  sank  into  a  chair. 
The  baron,  with  folded  arms  and  wrinkled  brow, 
paced  back  and  forth  for  some  time  without  further 
utterance.  At  length,  he  halted  before  her,  and  fixing 
his  eyes  upon  her  sharply,  addressed  her  in  cold  and 
measured  tones:  "Count  Stjernekrantz  has  proposed 
to  you?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"And  you  have  refused  him?" 
"Yes." 

"Were  you  not  aware  that  your  parents  have  long 
desired  this  union?" 

"I  was  aware  of  it,  father,  but  did  not  feel  myself 
bound,  nevertheless,  to  surrender  my  liberty  and  sac- 
rifice my  future  happiness  on  that  account." 

"Surrender  your  liberty!  Sacrifice  your  future  hap- 
piness! Folderol!  You  know  that  I  will  not  tolerate 
any  such  romantic  nonsense.  Any  marriagable  girl, 
possessing  good  common  sense,  would  thank  God  on 
bended  knees  for  the  opportunity  to  surrender  every- 
thing to  become  the  Countess  Stjernekrantz." 

"Father,"  interrupted  Isabella,  "I  make  bold,  for 
the  honor  of  my  sex,  to  declare  you  in  error.  But 

571 


572  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

whatever  others  might  do,  I,  at  any  rate,  will  ask  God 
on  my  knees  to  spare  me  from  a  union  that  is  so  de- 
testable to  me.  " 

The  baron  stamped  the  floor  impatiently.  "And 
why  is  it  so  detestable?"  demanded  he  harshly.  "Is 
not  Count  Eberhard,  in  all  respects,  a  suitable  match? 
He  is  still  young,  of  high  birth,  rich  and  good-looking. 
What  more  can  you  require?" 

"It  is  possible  that,  in  your  eyes,  the  count  is  good- 
looking,  but  he  seems  to  me  to  be  an  incarnation  of 
the  evil  one  himself.  Have  you  forgotten  the  scene 
in  the  salon  when  Mr.  Sterner  entered?  At  sight  of 
him,  the  count  was  almost  beside  himself,  and  cried 
out  in  a  manner  that  seemed  to  imply  some  dread- 
ful secret.  " 

"Bah!  You  dunce!  "  said  the  baron,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  "how  can  you  put  such  a  construction  upon 
his  utterances  and  actions?  Mr.  Sterner  resembles 
the  count  very  strikingly,  also  his  father,  who,  as  you 
have  heard,  was  drowned  many  years  ago  in  the  river 
Inn  before  the  very  eyes  of  his  son,  powerless  to  ren 
der  him  assistance.  That  terrible  accident  was  revived 
upon  seeing  the  young  man,  whose  remarkable  resem- 
blance to  the  count  makes  me  ready  to  believe  him 
possibly  a  brother  in  a  side  line.  I  have  discussed 
the  occurrence  with  Eberhard  and  he  assured  ine  that 
he  is  subject  to  attacks  of  the  character  occasioned  by 
a  sudden  nervous  shock,  and  that  it  was  this,  in 
connection  with  the  recollection  of  his  father's  death, 
that  threw  him  into  the  condition  in  which  we  wit- 
nessed him.  It  was  a  singular  coincidence,  a  play  of 
fate,  that  this  meeting  should  happen  on  the  anniver- 
sary of  the  elder  count's  death,  the  i6th  of  June. 
There  you  have  an  explanation  of  the  whole  circum- 
stance." 


FATHER,    MOTHER   AND    BROTHER  573 

"Can  it  be  that  Mr.  Sterner  is  half  brother  to  the 
count!"  cried  Isabella,  growing  pale. 

"I  do  not  say  that  it  is  so,"  answered  the  baron, 
"and  Eberhard  himself  knows  nothing  about  it,  but  I 
do  say  it  is  not  impossible.  This  does  not  concern 
the  subject  in  hand,  however.  The  question  is,  will 
you  marry  Eberhard  or  not?" 

"I  have  already  answered  you,  father.  1  cannot 
give  my  hand  to  a  man  whom  I  cannot  respect,  and 
one,  too,  to  put  it  mildly,  who  possesses  a  double 
character.  " 

"Indeed!  You  can't!  "  resumed  the  baron;  "and  you 
expect  me  to  be  content  with  such  an  answer?" 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Isabella  meekly.  "I  cannot  believe 
that  you  look  upon  your  daughter  as  a  chattel  that 
may  be  disposed  of  to  the  highest  bidder.  I  know 
you  do  not  love  me,  father,  but  you  cannot  be  so  cruel 
as  to  allow  your  vanity  to  inflict  upon  me  a  life  o 
unhappiness  and  misery.  You  cannot  mean  it,  father. 
O,  say  that  you  do  not!  " 

Isabella's  tones  were  so  pleading,  her  manner  and 
look  so  appealing,  that  any  other  than  the  baron  must 
have  been  moved  to  pity;  but  his  heart  was  insensible 
to  and  set  against  all  gentle  feelings.  A  rock  could 
not  be  colder,  harder,  more  unfeeling  than  his  breast, 
wholly  dominated  as  it  was  by  pride  and  selfishness. 

"Why  is  she  prating  about  chattels  and  a  life  of 
misery?"  said  the  baron  coldly.  "From  what  romance 
has  she  acquired  this  .nonsense?  This  is  the  conse- 
quence of  having  a  daughter  who  soars  only  in  the 
world  of  imagination,  who  has  been  made  half  mad 
by  novel  reading.  Short  and  sweet,  and  for  the  last 
time,  Isabella,  will  you  marry  Count  Stjernekrantz? " 

"Never!"  cried    Isabella    emphatically.      "You   shall 


574  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

never  compel  me  to  it.  A  worn-out  rout  can  never 
make  Isabella  Ehrenstam  happy.  I  despise  the  count, 
and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  father,  I  refuse  to 
heed  your  wishes.  " 

The  baron  was  so  surprised  at  this  unlooked-for  dar- 
ing that  he  was  unable  for  a  long  time  to  utter  a  word, 
but  his  astonishment  passed,  finally,  into  an  outburst 
of  fury;  not  an  unusual  occurrence  with  this  irrepress- 
ible man,  as  the  reader  has  already  seen  on  several  oc- 
casions. 

"Indeed!  You  dare  to  oppose  my  wishes  then!" 
he  roared  in  tones  so  foreboding  that  the  blood  almost 
stood  still  in  Isabella's  veins.  "You  defy  me,  do  you! 
I  swear  that  you  shall  be  Eberhard's  wife  if  I  must 
drag  you  by  the  hair  to  the  altar." 

Isabella  soon  recovered  her  serenity,  her  determina- 
tion, and  rising,  she  declared,  without  the  least  evi- 
dence of  fear:  "I  swear  that  you  will  have  to  drag 
me  to  the  altar  by  the  hair  if  so  must  be.  You  may 
abuse  me,  but  your  rage  does  not  frighten  me.  Do 
your  worst!"  and  turning,  she  was  about  to  depart. 

"Hold,  Isabella!      Remain  here!      I  command  you!" 

Isabella  resumed  her  seat. 

Silently  the  baron  paced  back  and  forth  a  long  time, 
struggling  to  master  the  storm  that  was  raging  in  his 
breast.  At  length  he  paused,  contemplated  his  daugh- 
ter long  and  steadfastly,  and  resumed  in  tones  whose 
measured  calmness  alarmed  Isabella  far  more  than  the 
terrible  frenzy  she  had  just  witnessed: 

"Isabella,  you  have  eight  days  in  which  to  decide. 
If  you  do  not  consent  at  the  end  of  that  time  to  follow 
my  wishes,  you  must  leave  my  house  never  again  to 
set  foot  on  its  threshold.  Consider  well.  You  know 
me  to  be  one  who  keeps  his  word.  Go!" 


FATHER,    MOTHER   AND    BROTHER  575 

"I  will  obey  you,  father,  and  leave  your  house. 
You  will  have  one  child  less,  and  one  more  torment 
upon  your  conscience.  The  world  is  wide.  There 
will  surely  be  found  some  kindly  roof  that  will  shelter 
the  outcast." 

The  baron  deigned  no  reply. 

Isabella  retired  with  firm  step. 

''O,  this  mood  will  soon  pass  off,"  muttered  the 
baron;  "and  should  she  continue  her  obstinacy,  the 
judgment  shall  go  into  effect." 

When  Isabella  again  entered  her  room,  she  sank 
weeping  on  to  a  sofa  and  hid  her  face  in  the  pillow. 

'Cast  out  by  my  father,  thrust  from  the  home  of  my 
childhood,"  she  wailed,  "O,  %my  God!  It  is  terrible! 
And  he  does  not  come,  though  he  assured  me  he 
would  keep  guard  over  my  welfare  and  frustrate  the 
plans  of  those  who  would  decide  my  fate.  I  will  ap- 
peal to  my  mother  and  George.  They  do  not  love  me, 
but  they  may  be  moved  to  compassion  for  me.  They 
may  be  induced  to  exercise  their  influence  to  avert  this 
misfortune  that  threatens  me.  Yes,  I  will  go  to  them 
at  once. " 

Rising,  she  wiped  away  her  tears  and  rang.  "Anna," 
said  she  to  the  maid  who  responded  to  the  bell  call, 
"do  you  know  whether  mother  is  in  her  room?" 

"Yes,  her  ladyship  is  in." 

"Go  ask  her  if  she  has  a  few  minutes  that  she  will 
spare  to  me.  Say  that  I  wish  to  speak  with  her  pri- 
vately." The  maid  departed,  and  returned  after  a  time 
with  the  answer  that  her  ladyship  was  ready  to  see 
her. 

Ten  minutes  later,  Isabella  entered  her  mother's 
private  room.  The  baroness  received  her,  half  reclin- 


576  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

ing  in  an  easy  chair,  and  weeping  over  one  of  the 
novels  cf  the  day  which  she  was  engaged  in  reading. 

Upon  Isabella's  entrance,  she  laid  aside  her  book, 
dried  her  eyes,  and  motioned  her  daughter  to  a  seat. 

'You  find  me  in  an  agitated  state  of  mind,  my  dear 
Isabella,"  said  she  in  a  feeble  voice.  "You  know  that 
lately  my  nerves  have  been  very  weak.  I  have  been 
unable  to  read  this  touching  story  by  Balzac  without 
experiencing  the  most  acute  feeling  and  shedding 
tears.  In  what  a  masterly  manner  he  describes  his 
unfortunate  heroine's  cruel  struggles.  But,  to  the 
subject;  you  wished  to  speak  with  me,  I  believe." 

"Mother,"  said  Isabella,  bursting  into  tears,  "have 
pity  on  me!  If  you  entertain  the  least  spark  of  kind- 
liness for  me,  give  me  some  evidence  of  it." 

"Goodness!  dear  child!"  said  the  baroness,  "what 
is  the  matter?  You  know  I  dislike  such  scenes.  They 
affect  my  nerves  very  disagreeably.  But  what  has 
happened?" 

"Count  Stjernekrantz  has  requested  my  hand, 
mother." 

"Has  he?"  exclaimed  the  baroness  triumphantly.  "I 
told  you  it  would  come  in  time.  I  congratulate  you, 
my  dear  Isabella,  and  give  you  a  mother's  blessing 
with  all  my  heart." 

"O  mother,  how  can  you  speak  so  cruelly,  knowing 
that  death  is  far  preferable  to  this  detestable  union!" 

"Fiddlesticks!  What  childishness!"  resumed  her 
mother  with  an  air  of  impatience.  "Death!  Bah,  Isa- 
bella, if  death  were  to  stare  you  in  the  face,  I  am  con- 
fident you  would  get  yourself  to  the  altar  without  delay, 
if  no  other  avenue  of  escape  offered.  Now,  now,  be 
sensible  and  obey  your  father;  but,  above  all,  let  me 
be  spared  your  lamentations.  Jt  is  distressing  to  me. " 


FATHER,  MOTHE  R  AND  BROTHER  577 

"Mother,  you  are  as  unmerciful  as  my  father." 

"You  do  not  understand  what  is  best  for  you,  my 
child,  and  we  must,  therefore,  assume  your  direction. 
Believe  me,  I  wish  you  well.  What  answer  did  you 
give  the  count?" 

"That  I  could  never  be  his  wife." 

"You  will  have  to  modify  your  answer,  my  dear  Isa- 
bella," said  the  baroness  disdainfully.  "What  did 
your  father  say  upon  the  subject?" 

"That  he  will  drive  me  from  home,  if  I  do    not    be- 
fore eight  days  consent  to  take  the  count    O,  in  mercy 
in  charity,   mother,  do  not  drive  me  to  extremities'" 

She  threw  herself  at  her  mother's  feet,  and  with 
tears  that  would  have  melted  a  fury,  bedewed  her 
mother's  morning-gown. 

"Isabella!"  exclaimed  the  baroness,  "get  up!  O, 
my  God!  What  an  unbecoming  scene!  You  will 
spoil  my  garment  with  your  tears.  O,  give  me  my 
smelling  salts  standing  there  on  the  table!  But  rise!" 

Isabella  dried  her  tears,  and  said  in  a  voice  trem- 
bling with  emotion: 

"Mother,  you  can  shed  tears  over  a  novel,  but  for 
your  daughter  in  the  utmost  misery,  you  have  not  so 
much  as  a  consoling  word.  You  thrust  me  harshly 
from  you. " 

The  baroness,  however  much  against  her  will,  was 
not  insensible  to  these  words,  but  concealed  her  feel- 
ing from  her  daughter,  and  said  after  a  pause: 

"Isabella,  even  though  I  would  that  this  marriage 
should  not  be,  you  know  that  I  am  powerless.  Your 
father  will  allow  nothing  to  sway  him  once  he  has 
arrived  at  a  determination.  Moreover,  I  must  confess 
to  you,  my  child,  it  is  quite  as  much  my  desire  as  his 
that  you  should  marry  Eberhard." 


578  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Then  I  may  expect  no  assistance  from  you,  mother? 

"I  can't  brave  your  father's  anger  to  satisfy  your 
foolish  whims-,  Isabella." 

"Farewell,  then,  mother!  In  eight  days,  you  will 
have  no  daughter.  I  shall  be  away  by  then." 

"As  you  see  fit!"  said  the  baroness,  applying  the 
smelling  salts  to  her  nose.  "Great  heavens!  How  this 
conversation  has  wrought  upon  my  nerves." 

Isabella  retired,  and  the  baroness  resumed  her 
reading,  and  her  weeping  over  Balzac's  romance. 

"There  is  George  yet,"  said  Isabella  to  herself,  as 
with  unsteady  gait  she  passed  through  the  parlor.  "I 
have  little  to  hope  from  him,  but  I  will  leave  no  end 
unsought.  His  influence  over  my  father  is  great,  and 
he  might,  perhaps,  induce  him  to  change  his  mind.' 

George's  apartments  were  in  one  of  the  wings  of 
the  dwelling.  Isabella  approached  and  knocked  upon 
his  door. 

"George,  are  you  there?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  he. 

"Are  you  alone?  ' 

"Yes,  yes,  come  in." 

Isabella  entered. 

George  was  occupied  with  cleaning  a  gun  in  prepa- 
ration for  a  day's  shooting  with  his  friends  and  guests, 
Ornskold  and  Hjertskold,  who  were  then  waiting  for 
him  in  the  park. 

"What  in  the  world  has  occurred!"  said  George, 
ceasing  his  employment,  "that  I  am  honored  by  a  visit 
from  my  learned  sister  at  this  hour  of  the  day?  What 
do  you  wish?  Out  with  it  quickly,  for  I  am  in  a 
hurry." 

"George,"  said  his  sister  in  beseeching  tones,  "you 
must  use  your  influence  with  father  to  prevent  an  im- 


FATHER,    MOTHER   AND   BROTHER  579 

measurable  misfortune  that  menaces  me.  I,  your 
unhappy  sister,  come  to  you,  George.  O,  God  grant 
that  you  show  me  a  brotherly  consideration!" 

"Well,  what  is— Deuce  take  it!  How  dusty  this 
gunlock  is — this  misfortune — I  believe  the  devil  has 
set  these  screws — that  menaces  you,  my  dear  Isabella? 
Hector,  id!  Lie  still,  you  whelp!" 

These  last  words  were  addressed  to  a  bird  dog  which 
obediently  laid  himself  at  his  master's  feet. 

"Put  aside  your  gun, George,  and  hear  me  patiently," 
said  Isabella. 

"No,  go  on  with  your  talk,  I  can  hear,"  resumed  he 
as  he  continued  his  work.  "Tell  me  what  it  is  that 
has  made  you  so  soft-hearted  all  of  a  sudden.  Has 
someone  forbidden  your  reading  Latin?  Has  someone 
purloined  one  of  your  classic  authors?" 

"George,  is  this  brotherly?  How  can  you  talk  so 
lightly  when  you  see  that  I  am  in  distress?" 

"Well,  confound  it,  then,  tell  me  what  has  hap- 
pened! '  said  George,  shouldering  his  gun  and  calling 
the  dog  to  him;  "but  be  lively  about  it,  for  Hjertskold 
and  Ornskold  are  awaiting  me  in  the  park.  We  are 
going  out  shooting." 

Isabella  laid  before  him,  in  as  few  words  as  possible, 
the  cause  of  her  trouble,  and  importuned  him  by  every- 
thing holy  to  endeavor  to  rescue  her  from  her  terrible 
extremity. 

"Well,  I  know  that  it  is  designed  that  you  shall 
become  a  rich  and  famous  countess,"  laughed  he,  "and 
you  come  here  to  beg  that  I  will  intercede  for  you 
against  the  project.  What  can  I  do  in  the  matter, 
my  dear  Isabella?" 

"You  can  use  your  influence  with  father,  and  per- 
suade him  to  abandon  his  cruel  design.  O  George, 
I  beg  of  you!  Pity  me!  Pity  me!" 


580  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

She  burst  into  tears. 

"O,  this  is  altogether  too  melodramatic! "  said 
George,  elevating  his  shoulders.  "It  grieves  me,  but 
I  can't  help  you,  Isabella.  It  is  opposed  to  my  con- 
victions of  what  is  best  for  you  to  seek  to  demolish 
this  wedding  project — a  very  advantageous  match,  it 
seems  to  me.  Hector,  fetch  me  my  handkerchief! " 
George  pointed  to  the  sofa  where  the  handkerchief 
la)'.  The  obedient  dog  hastened  at  once  to  get  it. 

"Morbleu!"  exclaimed  George,  "that  attitude  would 
become  a  Rachel.  It  is  superb,  but  you  hold  your 
head  a  little  too  much  on  one  side,  Isabella." 

"Farewell,  George,"  cried  his  sister,  her  composure 
regained,  and  lifting  her  head  proudly,  "may  God  for- 
give your  cruelty!" 

She  departed,  and  George,  whistling  carelessly  to 
his  dog,  which  bore  its  master's  game-bag  in  its  mouth, 

set  out  to  join  his  guests. 

\ 

"It  is  in  vain,"  muttered  the  unhappy  young  woman 
to  herself  as  she  paced  back  and  forth  in  her  room. 
"Father,  mother,  brother,  all  sneer  at  me,  abandon  me, 
crush  me.  Not  a  spark  of  sympathy  in  any  one  of 
them.  Very  well,  I'll  go  then  to  my  teacher,  to  him 
who  alone  understands  me,  who  alone  can  sympathize 
with  me.  I  will  go  to  him  this  evening,  lay  bare  my 
plight  and  beg  his  advice,  and  if  the  worst  come,  I'll 
know  how  to  submit  to  my  fate  with  courage.  There 
must  be  some  corner  in  the  world  to  which  I  may 
flee,  and  if  there  is  no  other  course,  there  is,  at  least 
— the  grave. 

"O  Maurits  Sterner,  why  did  you  rescue  me  from 
the  water,  or,  rather,  why  do  you  not  come  for  a  second 
time  and  save  me!  " 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   MEETING    IN  THE   FOREST 

"Anna,"  said  Isabella  to  her  maid  the  evening  of 
the  same  day,  "I  am  going  to  Marielund  for  a  little 
while.  If  I  am  asked  for,  you  will  know  where  I  am." 

"But  if  the  baron  is  displeased?" 

"Enough!"  interrupted  Isabella  impatiently,  "do 
not  concern  yourself,  Anna.  Father  is  just  now  at 
Odensvik,  and  mother  is  at  supper  as  usual  in  her 
room.  It  is  not  likely,  therefore,  that  my  absence 
will  be  noticed." 

"Shall  I  not  accompany  you?  It  may  be  late  when 
you  return. " 

"In  that  event,  I  will  ask  Holmer  and  Maria  to  bear 
me  company  through  the  woods.  Whether  or  not, 
there  is  nothing  to  fear,  should  I  have  to  return 
alone. " 

"Gracious!  "  exclaimed  the  girl.  "Remember  that 
you  must  pass  the  place  where  the  young  baron,  my 
lady's  half-brother,  was  murdered  many  years  ago. 
It  always  sends  a  chill  up  my  spine,  even  in  broad 
daylight,  when  I  near  the  place." 

"You  are  a  ninny,  Anna!"  said  Isabella,  throwing  a 
cape  over  her  shoulders,  and  tying  her  hat  strings. 
"The  dead  sleep  in  peace.  Would  to  God  the  living 
were  as  little  troublesome,  could  cause  as  little  suf- 
fering! " 

Isabella  was  now  ready,  and  hastening  out,  she  had 

581 


582  THE    PLAY    OF    KATE 

soon  crossed  the  garden  and  reached  the  gate  leading 
into  the  lane.  Arriving  at  the  high  road,  she  turned 
to  the  left  and  pursued  her  way  thoughtfully  and 
dreamily  through  the  thick,  gloomy  forest  whose  giant 
trees  on  either  side  raised  their  crowns  high  toward 
the  heavens,  and  through  which  the  evening  breezes 
were  sighing  mournfully. 

At  the  edge  of  the  forest,  on  the  left  side  of  the 
road,  was  still  piled  the  huge  mass  of  stones  and  sticks, 
thrown  there  by  the  wayfarers  to  mark  the  spot  where 
the  awful  crime  of  murder  had  been  committed.  During 
the  past  ten  years,  this  monument  had  grown  to  an 
immense  height,  for  no  one  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
region  ever  passed  without  adding  to  it  a  stone,  or  a 
branch  of  some  kind.  When  Isabella  arrived  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  dreadful  spot,  casting  a  glance  in  the 
direction  of  the  monument,  she  saw,  with  astonish- 
ment, a  person,  apparently  sunk  in  deep  thought^ 
standing  on  its  summit.  A  slight  flush  colored  the 
young  woman's  cheeks.  She  recognized  in  the  tall, 
well-knit  figure  and  manly  features,  her  rescuer,  Mau- 
rits  Sterner.  He  was  standing,  his  arms  folded  across 
his  breast,  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground  in  that 
meditating  position  that  denotes  a  journey  of  the 
mind  into  the  kingdom  of  dreams.  For  an  instant, 
Isabella  feared  he  would  not  observe  her  passing, 
therefore,  when  she  was  well  in  front  of  the  pile,  she 
coughed  lightly  to  attract  his  -attention. 

Maurits  lifted  his  head  suddenly  and  their  eyes 
met..  With  a  few  springs,  he  was  in  the  road  at  her 
side. 

"Ah  Miss  Isabella,  what  an  unexpected  and  happy 
meeting!"  cried  he.  "I  have  longed  to  see  you,  for 
I  have  matters  of  great  moment  that  I  would  impart 
to  you." 


THE   MEETING   IN  THE   FOREST  583 

"If  so  be,"  said  Isabella  in  reproachful  tones,  "I 
may  ask  why  you  have  denied  Liljedahl  so  many  days 
the  honor  of  your  presence?  You  seem  to  have  had 
enough  with  the  first  visit." 

"Enough!  How  you  talk!  Other  causes  have  kept 
me  away— causes  which  I  will  explain  to  you  later; 
but  now  that  the  good  fortune  is  mine  to  have  met 
you,  I  hope  you  will  grant  me  a  few  minutes'  conver- 
sation. Believe  me,  it  is  for  your  good." 

"I  do  not  doubt  you,  sir,  and  I  am  prepared  to  list- 
en. Let  us  proceed  together.  You  can,  of  course, 
escort  me  to  Marielund,  the  object  of  my  walk  this 
evening. " 

"No,  let  us  rather  take  a  seat  in  the  shadow  of 
yonder  pine  back  of  the  stone  heap.  The  place  is  not 
so  attractive,  and  to  your  family  there  are  unpleasant 
recollections  surrounding  it,  but  there  is  a  large  pros- 
trate tree  that  offers  an  inviting  resting  place.  I  have 
sat  there  once  before,  under  entirely  different  circum- 
stances, however;  but  that  was  many  years  ago  and 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  present.  No  one  can  see 
us  there,  neither  hear  what  we  say,  for  we  shall  be 
sufficiently  distant  from  the  road.  Come,  Isabella. 
The  fragrance  of  the  woods  is  fresh  and  glorious,  and 
the  song  of  the  wind  singing  in  the  tree-tops  imparts 
a  melancholy  pleasure.  Come!" 

Maurits  took  her  hand,  and  she  accompanied  him 
without  objection,  though  marveling  at  the  strange 
and  somber  place  he  had  selected  for  their  conversa- 
tion. 

As  Maurits  and  Isabella  disappeared  behind  the 
stone  pile,  a  third  person  who,  unobserved,  had  heard 
them  thus  far,  crept  stealthily  from  the  forest  on  the 
other  side  of  the  way,  sped  hurriedly  across  to  the 


584  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

monument,  and  upon  reaching  it  concealed  himself  in 
the  vicinity  so  near  them  that,  without  fear  of  being 
discovered,  he  could  hear  every  word  that  passed  be- 
tween the  two  speakers. 

This  person  was  the  beggar,  who,  the  evening  be- 
fore, was  driven  from  the  park  of  Liljedahl  by  George 
and  Eberhard. 

Maurits  had  conducted  Isabella  to  a  seat  upon  a 
tree  trunk,  lying  between  the  edge  of  the  forest  and 
the  stone  heap,  at  the  foot  of  two  pines  that  completely 
shaded  the  spot  with  their  branches.  He  himself 
took  a  seat  upon  the  ground  at  her  feet,  holding  fast 
her  hand,  which  the  young  woman,  in  her  embarrass- 
ment, forgot  to  withdraw  from  his  grasp. 

Evening  had  begun  to  cast  its  shadows  over  the 
neighborhood;  the  thrush  lamented  among  the  boughs 
of  the  pine,  accompanied  by  sighs  from  the  aeolian 
harp  of  the  winds.  All  else  was  silent,  and  silently 
the  summer  moon  was  gliding  upward,  bringing  in  its 
path  a  diadem  of  glistening  stars. 

For  some  minutes  Maurits  sat  without  utterance, 
retaining  the  young  woman's  hand  in  his.  A  strange 
thought,  a  peculiar  combination  of  incidents  had 
usurped  his  mind.  Upon  this  same  spot,  he  had  sat 
fourteen  years  before,  when  a  boy,  and  listened  to 
Jacob  Kron,  who  drew  a  picture  of  his  melancholy  fate 
to  implant  in  the'  heart  of  the  youth  the  seeds  of  his 
desperate  beliefs,  and  now  he  sat  here  by  the  side  of 
Jacob's  sister,  the  young  girl  whose  life  he  had  saved, 
and  whom  he  already  loved  with  all  of  a  first  love's 
heart-thrilling  passion. 

From  the  halls  of  the  magnificent  mansion  of  her 
high-born  parents,  young,  beautiful,  surrounded  by 
the  luster  of  birth  and  wealth,  she  had  come  to  lay  be- 


He  could  hear  every  word  that  passed  between  the  two 
speakers. — p.  584. 


THE   MEETING   IN   THE   FOREST  585 

fore  him  her  sufferings,  her  struggles,  as  fourteen 
years  before  her  outcast  brother,  just  from  the  musty 
cell  of  a  prison,  from  the  haunts  of  crime  and  degra- 
dation, covered  with  poverty's  rags,  had  come  to  talk 
of  the  misery,  the  distress  and  fearful  fate  of  which  he 
had  been  the  plaything.  "Here  are  life's  extremities," 
said  Maurits  to  himself.  "But  see,  nevertheless,  a 
correspondence  between  the  extreme  ends  of  the  chain 
of  human  life.  Suffering  finds  its  way  to  the  heart 
whether  covered  with  silks  or  rags.  Strange  fate!" 

What  would  Mauri ts  have  thought  had  he  known 
that  only  a  few  paces  distant,  back  of  him.  the  same 
miserable  outcast  whose  words  had  made  such  a  deep 
impression  upon  him,  was  listening  to  catch  every 
word  that  might  pass  between  Isabella  and  him. 

"You  are  silent, ''  said  Isabella  at  last  in  a  low  tone. 
"O,  my  noble  rescuer!  if  you  knew  how  cruelly  my 
heart  is  lacerated  you  would  not  hesitate  to  tender 
your  sympathy." 

"I  was  silent,  Isabella,  because  the  memories  con- 
nected with  this  spot  where  we  now  are,  filled  my  soul 
for  an  instant  and  silenced  my  tongue." 

"Memories!"  said  Isabella,  "and  what  are  they? 
A  half  brother  of  mine  was  murdered  here  many 
years  ago,  I  am  told.  His  murderer  has  never  been 
discovered.  But  this  cannot  have  any  interest  for 
you. " 

"No,  there  are  others.  I  was  thinking  of  the  time 
when,  as  a  child,  I  gathered  wood  in  this  forest  with 
which  to  build  a  little  fire  at  home  where  my  mother 
lay  sick.  I  remember  with  what  horror  I  looked 
upon  this  monument  as  I  passed  it,  and  I  was  com- 
paring, in  my  mind,  the  circumstances  of  those  days 
and  the  present.  But  we  must  not  speak  of  this. 


586  THE    PLAY    OF    PATE 

You  are  in  distress,  you  tell  me,  Isabella.  Make  a 
confidant  of  me  in  your  affliction,  and,  if  I  can  deliver 
you  from  a  single  pang,  I  would  purchase  the  good 
fortune  with  my  life  if  need  be." 

"Count  Stjernekrantz  has  asked  my  hand.  You 
remember  that  a  few  words  on  the  subject  passed 
between  us  in  the  salon  at  Liljedahl?" 

"I  have  not  forgotten  it.  And  what  answer  did  you 
give  him?  " 

'Can  you  have  a  doubt  about  my  answer?  I  refused 
him." 

"And  j'our  parents?" 

"Have  commanded  me  to  become  his  wife,  or  in 
eight  days  leave  their  house.  O,  sir,  it  is  a  terrible 
alternative!  " 

"Ha!  "  exclaimed  Maurits,  his  brow  contracting, 
"they  have  no  mercy,  then,  the  heartless  creatures!" 
But  checked  himself  suddenly,  as  if  fearing  he  might 
say  too  much. 

"Speak  out,  Maurits,"  said  Isabella,  "I  have  perfect 
confidence  in  you,  and  you  may  impart  your  thoughts 
to  me  without  the  slightest  fear  of  wounding  me. 
Yes,  you  are  right,  the}'  are  heartless,  cold,  stern,  ego- 
tistical. They  know  no  pain  at  my  distress;  they 
think  nothing  of  making  a  sacrifice  of  their  child  to 
gratify  their  ambition,  their  vanity,  their  pride.  Woe 
is  me!  that  I  must  flee  to  strangers  to  find  a  sympa- 
thy that  I  have  sought  in  vain  among  my  own." 

"Tell  me,  in  detail,  what  has  occurred,"  said  Mau- 
rits. 

Isabella  related  the  incidents  of  the  count's  wooing, 
his  anger  at  being  refused,  her  father's  cruel  com- 
mand, and,  finally,  the  fruitless  endeavor  to  move  the 
baroness  and  George  to  pity. 


THE   MEETING   IN   THE   FOREST  587 

/on  see  then,"  continued  she,  weeping,  "that  all 
have  combined  against  me.  There  remains  nothing 
for  me  but — death." 

"Do  not  weep,  Isabella!  "  said  Maurits  in  tones  that 
struck  deep  into  the  young  woman's  soul;  "do  not 
weep.  All  is  not  yet  lost.  Have  you  forgotten  what 
I  promised  you?  Believe  me,  you  shall  not  be  coerced 
into  this  thing. " 

"Maurits,"  whispered  Isabella  softly,  looking  him 
full  in  the  eye,  'O,  is  it  a  dream!  Can  you  save  me?" 

"Isabella!"  exclaimed  Maurits,  powerless  to  longer 
restrain  the  feelings  that  welled  up  within  him,  "I 
can  and  will  rescue  you.  I  swear  it!  You  are  the 
only  woman  for  whom  my  heart  has  ever  pulsated. 
We  love  each  other,  Isabella,  why  should  we  conceal 
it?  Your  eyes  have  told  me  so  much.  Our  souls  has- 
tened to  the  meeting  long  before  we  saw  each  other. 
They  sought  each  other  with  sighs  and  longings  — as 
two  flames  long  to  come  together  until  they  melt  in- 
to one  — at  the  first  meeting  of  our  eyes.  Before  I  saw 
you,  I  felt  avoid  in  my  breast  that  nothing  seemed  to 
fill.  Already  something  whispered  to  me  that  I  should 
some  day  find  you;  in  you  I  see  the  embodiment  of  the 
ideal  whose  beautiful  figure  I  had  thus  far  seen  only 
in  my  dreams.  O  Isabella,  why  these  downcast  eyes? 
Answer,  speak,  say  ,ve  will  love  each  other." 

Isabella  lifted  ht     head. 

"Maurits,  '  said  sL^  in  whispers  as  soft  as  the  even- 
ing breezes,  murmuring  through  the  tree-tops  over- 
head, "Maurits,  you  speak  the  truth.  We  love  each 
other,"  and  she  sank  to  his  breast,  resting  her  head 
upon  his  shoulder. 

"It  is  then  true!"  exclaimed  the  youth  passionately, 
as  he  kissed  her  hair,  her  cheeks,  her  lips;  "you  love 


588  THE    PLAY    OF    KATE 

me,  Isabella!  Let  life's  storms  come,  I  defy  them! 
Here  on  this  spot, where  once  in  days  gone  by,  I  expe- 
rienced the  keenest  suffering,  here  God  has  allowed 
me  in  recompense  to  drink  from  the  chalice  that  in- 
toxicates me  with  joy." 

"Maurits,"  whispered  Isabella,  only  half  conscious 
of  his  burning  kisses  on  her  lips,  "O  Maurits,  how 
sweet  it  would  be  to  die  at  this  instant,  to  die  in  your 
embrace!" 

"What,  die!"  exclaimed  Maurits,  springing  from  the 
ground.  "Do  not  speak  of  death.  Life  is  too  sweet, 
and  we  will  live  for  each  other.  Would  you  die  in 
the  hour  that  you  begin  to  live,  Isabella?  For  life 
without  love  is  not  life.  No,  by  the  eternal  stars 
that  dance  in  yonder  firmament,  live!  live!  that  we 
will!  Live  to  enjoy  a  pleasure  as  great,  as  sublime, 
as  pure  as  was  ever  vouchsafed  to  mortals  on  this 
planet.  Time  was  when  I  wept  over  my  lot  in  life, 
hated  mankind,  denounced  providence,  and  these  feel- 
ings, though  slumbering  in  my  soul,  have  been  kept 
alive,  nevertheless,  as  a  coal  under  the  ashes,  but 
they  are  now  extinguished,  put  an  end  to,  burned 
out  in  the  flames  of  love.  They  shall  never  again  be 
revived,  since  I  have  learned  to  know  this  blessedness, 
and  you  talk  of  death,  Isabella!" 

"Forgive  me,  Maurits!"  cried  Isabella,  springing  to 
her  feet,  and  casting  herself  into  his  arms,,  "forgive 
me!  It  was  an  ungrateful  utterance,  an  utterance  that 
escaped  my  lips  without  reason  in  my  heart.  I  repeat 
with  you,  we  must  live,  live  to  enjoy  the  bliss  for 
which  our  souls  have  thirsted  so  long.  You,  my  all 
on  earth,  for  your  sake  I  will  leave  father,  mother, 
brother  and  all.  By  your  side,  I  will  gladly  and  un- 
complainingly drink  to  the  bottom  of  the  cup  of  pov- 


THE    MEETING    IN    THE    FOREST  589 

erty  if  need  be.  Away  with  all  clouds,  all  sorrows, 
for  you  love  me,  Maurits,  you  love  me!" 

The  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  had  faded  away  un- 
observed. The  moon  had  hidden  herself  among  the 
clouds,  but  they  saw  it  not;  the  evening  wind  sang  its 
mournful  death  song,  but  they  heard  it  not.  They 
saw  and  heard  only  each  other.  They  were  happy, 
but  only  a  few  paces  distant,  wholly  unknown  to  them, 
lurked  revenge. 

"Isabella,"  said  Maurits,  -finally  taking  her  cloak 
from  the  ground,  and  wrapping  it  around  her  shoul- 
ders, "it  is  late,  and  you  must  return  home.  It  were 
imprudent  to  tarry  longer." 

"So  soon!"  exclaimed  Isabella,  looking  around; 
"you  are  right,  it  is  already  dark.  We  must  separate. " 

"Yes,  but  you  must  promise  to  meet  me  at  this 
hour  to-morrow  in  the  park  and  in  the  arbor  where 
we  first  met,  the  one  on  the  farthest  island  to  the  right 
of  the  road. " 

"Do  you  think  I  have  forgotten  it!  Yes,  I  will  meet 
you  there,  Maurits,  after  sunset  to-morrow  evening." 

"I  hope  to  have  some  good  news  for  you  by  that 
time,"  continued  Maurits.  "I  will  see  your  father  and 
speak  with  him,  Isabella.  Believe  me,  I  possess  a  tal- 
isman that  must  make  him  yield." 

"God  grant  it,  Maurits!"  said  Isabella;  "but  he  will 
never  give  his  consent  to  our  union,  even  though, 
which  1  hardly  dare  to  hope,  you  may  prevail  upon 
him  to  relinquish  his  cruel  determination  in  regard  to 
Count  Stjernekrantz.  He  would  rather  follow  me  to 
my  grave  than  give  my  hand  to  you." 

"Who  knows!"  said  Maurits,  laughing  gently. 

"You  are  not  of  high  birth,"  resumed  Isabella  sor- 
rowfully, "and  my  parents  prize  no  name,  however  re- 


59°  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

nowned,  if  he  who  bears  it  cannot  trace  his  ancestry 
back  into  the  dim  past.  Ah,  Maurits,  on  my  own 
account,  I  attach  no  importance  to  birth,  but  I  would 
give  ten  years  of  my  life  if  you  were  of  noble  descent 
We  might  then  find  no  difficulty  in  our  path." 

"We  will  discuss  this  to-morrow,  Isabella,  but  now, 
only  two  words,  hope  and  trust.  Let  us  quit  this 
gloomy  place  where  I  was  once  so  unhappy,  so  poor, 
now  so  happy  and  rich,  rich  in  the  certainty  of  your 
love,  Isabella,  my  noble  Isabella!" 

Taking  her  arm,  he  conducted  her  back  to  the  read, 
and  home  to  Liljedahi. 

Scarcely  were  they  away  than  the  beggar,  who  had 
listened  to  their  conversation,  rose  from  the  ground 
and  looked  long  and  intently  after  them. 

"The  fools!"  muttered  he  between  his  teeth.  'They 
dare  to  believe  in  happiness!  They  little  knew  that 
fate  was  already  brooding  over  their  flower  garden; 
had  already  sharpened  its  arrows.  Maurits  Sterner! 
it  was  you  who  were  the  cause  of  my  daughter's  down- 
fall. Quite  possible,  you  were  an  innocent  instrument. 
I  do  not  know,  I  need  not  know.  I  must  be  revenged 
whether  or  not. 

"Isabella,  my  sister,  ha!  ha!  You  are  pure,  inno- 
cent, noble,  but  what  matters  that  to  me!  You  too 
must  fall  an  offering  to  expiate  the  crimes  of  your 
father  and  brother!  The  whole  of  the  accursed  tribe 
shall  be  delivered  over  to  my  revenge.  I  cannot  help 
it.  You  must  die!.  But  how?"  Jacob  was  silent  some 
minutes.  "Ha,  I  have  it!"  he  burst  forth  suddenly, 
striking  his  hand  upon  his  forehead.  "Yes,  so  must 
it  be.  She  will  not  survive  it.  The  devil  must  have 
given  me  that  thought.  Let  us  go  and  lay  our  plans 
fcr  its  execution."  Hereupon  he  departed  with  slow 


THE    MEETING    IN   THE    FOREST  5QI 

pace,   and  soon    disappeared    in  the    darkness    of  the 
approaching  night. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  CONFERENCE 

On  the  see-saw  in  the  yard  at  Marielund,  the  morn- 
ing after  the  incidents  of  the  preceding  chapter,  sat 
Pastor  Bergholm,  Maurits  and  Holmer  engaged  in 
earnest  conversation.  A  dark  cloud  had  gathered  on 
Holmer' s  brow.  He  gazed  dejectedly  before  him  as 
he  talked. 

"Yes,  my  friends,"  said  he,  "I  have  never  fora  mo- 
ment doubted  that  the  result  would  be  this.  I  have 
felt  that  my  school  could  not  survive  against  such  pow- 
erful antagonists.  Instead  of  love  and  gratitude,  I 
have,  harvested  hate  and  bitterness  from  both  high  and 
low,  for  the  peasants  now  blame  me  for  their  masters' 
anger.  From  forty,  my  pupils  have  dwindled  down 
to  three,  and  even  these  will  desert  me  soon.  I  have 
been  dreaming.  How  should  one  hope  to  do  good 
when  no  other  power  than  money  influences  mankind? 
The  aristocracy  fear  the  education  of  the  peasants 
more  than  a  pest,  therefore  they  have  combined  to 
defeat  it.  It  grieves  me  that  people  should  be  so  nar- 
row, so  wanting  in  elevated  thoughts,  so  enslaved  by 
their  opinions,  so  vain  and  selfish." 

"It  is  indeed  sad,"  said  the  pastor,  "but  we  must 
hope  for  better  times.  God  may  one  day  have  pit}1  on 
the  oppressed  and  ignorant  people.  The  idea  whose 
champion  you  have  made  yourself  can  never  be  sup- 
pressed even  though  its  development  is  arrested  for  a 

592 


THE   CONFERENCE  593 

time.  Let  us  hope,"  and  his  eyes  rested  upon  Maurits, 
"that  from  among  the  youths  of  to-day  there  will  come 
many  apostles  of  light  and  truth  to  preach  its  teach- 
ings when  our  dust  is  laid  away  in  the  grave.  The 
struggle  in  which  we  have  been  vanquished,  they  will 
resume  and  carry  on  to  a  victorious  end,  and  prejudice 
will  have  to  make  way,  egotism  and  self-love  yield  to 
the  irresistible  demands  of  the  new  order  of  things. 
Evil  may  go  victoriously  on  for  a  time,  but  providence 
will  finally  mark  out  its  limits." 

"Is  it  not  Baron  Ehrenstam  of  Liljedahl  who  is 
the  most  relentless  opposer  of  your  school?"  inquired 
Maurits. 

"Yes,"  answered  Holmer.  "He  and  the  Count 
Stjernekrantz  of  Odensvik.  They  have  employed  every 
means  possible  to  compel  the  peasants  to  keep  their 
children  from  my  school.  They  have  threatened  to 
withdraw  their  benefices,  and  led  them  even  to  fear 
the  confiscation  of  their  little  possessions.  Aye,  even 
violence.  These  things  could  but  have  their  effect. 
The  children  came  to  me  crying  to  tell  me  that  their 
parents  had  forbidden  their  coming  here.  I  was  soon 
deserted  by  my  pupils,  and  all  my  beautiful  plans  were 
wrecked. " 

"And  one  of  the  busiest  adversaries,"  added  Pastor 
Bergholm,  "is  the  priest  Washohn.  He  has  taken  the 
religious  side  of  the  question,  and  has  persuaded  the 
peasants  that  their  children  are  taught  nothing  but 
worldly  and  sinful  things  here.  He  has  thundered 
against  the  devil's  device  from  his  pulpit,  threatened 
the  disobedient  fathers  and  mothers  with  eternal  dam- 
nation. Thus  the  zealous  man  of  God  has  succeeded 
in  destroying  our  work." 

"It     is     abominable!"     cried    Maurits     vehemently. 


594 


THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 


'!i'his  unworthy  priest  ought  to  be  complained  against, 
and  brought  before  the  consistory,  where  he  would 
hardly  escape  merited  punishment." 

"You  err  in  your  opinion,"  said  Holmer.  "The 
worthy  fathers  of  the  consistory  would  not  be  at  all 
likely  to  take  exception  to  his  course.  It  is  more  than 
probable  they  would  second  rather  than  condemn  it, 
for  they  are  not  at  all  disposed  that  the  common  peo- 
ple shall  be  educated.  The  peasant  should  drive  his 
plow  and  pound  the  catechism  into  his  head.  Any- 
thing beyond  this  is  sinful.  So  think  both  the  bishop 
and  the  consistory,  I  am  convinced.  We  may  expect 
no  help  from  that  quarter." 

"It  is  lamentable,  nevertheless  true,"  said  the  pas- 
to".  "Our  most  excellent  prelates  have  always  con- 
spired against  the  improvement  of  the  intellectual 
condition  of  the  peasant.  God  forgive  them  their 
sins!  I  can  never  believe  that  it  is  because  they  have 
become  convinced  it  is  better  for  the  people." 

'However  this  may  be,"  said  Maurits,  rising,  "we 
must  endeavor  to  get  your  school  under  way  again? 
H  jlmer.  I  have  well  grounded  hopes  that  we  shall 
succeed." 

"You!"  exclaimed  Holmer  in  astonishment. 

"Yes,  I  am  going  now  to  Liljedahl  to  talk  with  the 
baron.  It  depends  upon  him  more  than  any  other." 

"But,  my  boy,"  said  the  pastor,  "though  you  have 
saved  the  young  lady's  life,  and  thus  have  a  claim 
upon  the  gratitude  of  the  family,  I  feel  that  I  know 
the  baron  well  enough  to  predict  that  he  cannot  be 
swerved  from  his  determination." 

"Nor  do  I  intend  to  employ  any  such  means,"  re- 
sumed Maurits. 

"What  then?" 


THE   CONFERENCE  595 

"I  will  enlighten  you  upon  this  point  at  another 
time.  I  go  now  to  try  my  luck.  We  will  meet  at 
noon  at  the  parsonage.  Farewell!" 

Maurits  took  leave,  and  bent  his  steps  toward  Lil- 
jedahl. 

"H'm,  father,"  said  Holmer,  "what  does  he  mean, 
think  you?" 

"I  don't  know.  He  has  not  made  me  his  confidant 
in  the  matter.  It  may  be  he  knows  some  circum- 
stance in  the  baron's  life  that  he  would  not  have  laid 
bare  to  the  world.  Well,  well,  we  shall  see. " 

"Is  the  baron  at  home?"  inquired  Maurits  of  a 
servant  who  received  him  at  the  door  with  a  low  bow. 

"Yes,  he  is  in  his  room/' 

"Go  in  and  announce  me,  and  say  to  him  that  I  de- 
sire a  few  minutes'  conversation  with  him  upon  a 
matter  of  great  importance. 

The  servant  obeyed. 

At  the  expiration  of  a  few  minutes,  he  returned. 
"The  baron  requests  that  you  come  in.  He  is  alone." 

Maurits  passed  through  the  salon,  and  entered  the 
baron's  private  apartments. 

The  baron  was  sitting  at  a  writing-table,  his  back 
turned  toward  the  visitor.  .Without  lifting  his  head, 
or  looking  around,  he  continued  his  writing  for  some 
minutes,  while  Maurits  remained  standing  at  the  door, 
awaiting  his  pleasure. 

The  young  man  laughed  to  himself.  "Wait," 
thought  he,  "you  will  be  more  polite  before  I  have 
done  with  you. " 

Baron  Ehrenstam,  who  one  time  feared  that  the 
author  of  "The  Amber  Heart"  knew  the  name  of  him 
from  whose  life  he  had  drawn  several  of  the  scenes  of 


596  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

his  drama,  had,  by  degrees,  calmed  himself,  having 
heard  nothing  further  about  it.  "Either  it  is  an  acci- 
dent," thought  he,  "or  these  happenings  have  come  to 
his  ears  without  a  knowledge  of  the  participants.  It 
is  impossible  that  he  should  otherwise  refrain  from 
availing  himself  of  the  knowledge  to  extort  money  or 
other  benefits  from  me.  Poor  scribblers  such  as  he 
usually  take  advantage  of  scandals  of  the  kind  to  eke 
out  a  living." 

The  baron  was  quite  consistent  in  these  conclusions^ 
for,  egotistical  himself  to  the  highest  degree,  he  could 
not  understand  that  others  could  be  actuated  in  their 
doings  by  any  other  than  base  motives.  Besides,  like 
most  puffed-up  aristocrats,  he  entertained  the  greatest 
contempt  for  that  class  of  mankind  designated  by  him 
as  "ink  slingers,"  and  which  he  placed  in  about  the 
same  category  with  the  common  blackguard.  At  first 
he  had  both  hated  and  feared  the  author,  now  he  did 
neither,  having  become  satisfied  that  Maurits  possessed 
no  weapon  which  he  could  employ  against  him.  He 
regarded  him,  therefore,  with  the  utmost  indifference, 
confident  that  nothing  was  known  that  could  compro- 
mise him.  Yet  he  could  not  understand  what  had 
brought  the  young  man  there.  "He  is  here,"  thought 
the  baron,  "to  borrow  money  on  account  of  the  service 
once  done  me  when  he  rescued  Isabella  from  the 
water.  Well,  well,  I  must  at  least  show  my  gratitude, 
and  assist  him  if  his  petition  is  not  too  extravagant." 

It  was  this  train  of  thought  that  led  the  baron  to  treat 
Maurits  with  such  incivility  as  not  to  greet  him  upon 
his  entrance. 

At  length  the  young  man  lost  patience.  "Sir  baron!" 
said  he,  "I  have  come  here  for  the  purpose  of  speaking 
with  you,  not  to  see  you  write!  If  you  are  not  at  lib- 


THE   CONFERENCE  597 

erty  now,     please    appoint    an     hour  when    I    may  be 
heard. " 

The  baron  started,  and  turned  around.  The  tone 
indicated  anything  but  a  suppliant  come  to  borrow 
money,  but  commanded  his  attention.  He  rose,  and, 
smothering  his  anger,  went  to  meet  the  young  man 
with  a  smile  on  his  lips. 

"Excuse  my  absent-mindedness,"  said  he,  motion- 
ing Maurits  to  a  chair.  "Be  seated  and  tell  me  how 
I  can  be  of  service  to  you.  My  daughter's  rescuer  has 
every  claim  upon  my  gratitude." 

"Sir  baron,"  said  Maurits  in  an  off-hand  manner,  "I 
have  come  to  plead  with  you  in  two  matters  which, 
at  first  sight,  may  seem  quite  impossible  for  you  to 
grant  Let  me  preface  my  words,  however,  with  the 
assurance  that  I  make  no  claim  whatever  upon  you 
for  the  service  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  render  your 
daughter  I  ask  no  reward,  for  if  it  was  a  good  deed, 
the  deed  itself  is  ample  compensation." 

"A  very  peculiar  introduction,  I  confess,"  said  the 
baron.  "What  are  the  two  things  you  have  to  ask?" 

"You  have  been,"  resumed  Maurits,  "by  the  power 
of  your  influence,  instrumental  in  closing  a  school  es- 
tablished for  the  education  of  the  children  of  the  peas- 
ants; a  school  organized  by  the  teacher  of  your  own 
children,  Magister  Holmer  of  Marielund.  I  do  not 
approve  your  proceeding.  I  regard  Holmer's  under- 
taking as  noble,  humane  and  Christian,  and  I  believe, 
therefore,  that  it  should  be  encouraged  rather  than 
opposed." 

"Indeed!  you  think  so!"  said  the  baron,  twitching 
the  corner  of  his  mouth  derisively. 

"Yes,  and  I  wish  you  to  cease  your  intervention. 
It  is  my  desire  that  you  give  your  dependents  permis- 


"598  THE  PLAY  OF  PATE 

sion  to  send  their  children  to  the  school,  and  that  you 
contribute  a  sum  of  money  tor  its  support." 

"Truly,  very  modest  wishes!  " 

"Yes,  and  I  hope  you  will  assent." 
"Seriously?" 

"Yes,  seriously.  Otherwise  I  had  not  taken  the 
trouble  to  come  to  you  with  the  subject." 

"But,  young  man,  have  you  not  considered  that  you 
ask  impossibilities?" 

"I  said  at  the  outset  that  I  did  not  look  for  your 
immediate  consent,  but  you  will  come  to  it  in  the 
end." 

"You  are  very  naive  in  your  impudence,  my  young 
friend!"  said  the  baron  laughing  scornfully.  "But  this 
is  only  one  of  the  two  things  you  came  to  demand. 
Let  us  hear  the  other." 

"Very  well.  I  have  been  informed  that  you  intend 
to  wed  your  daughter  to  Count  Stjernekrantz  of  Odens- 
vik,  and  I  have  been  informed,  also,  that  the  marriage 
was  arranged  without  consulting  the  inclination  of  the 
young  lady.  She  abhors  the  count,  and  it  seems  quite 
natural  that  sho  should.  For  my  part,  I  have  no  con- 
fidence in  him,  and,  therefore,  this  union  displeases 
me  exceedingly.  I  will  not  see  the  child  that  I 
snatched  from  a  watery  grave,  now  in  her  womanhood, 
and  at  an  age  when  gifted  with  wisdom  enough  to 
choose  for  herself,  coerced  into  such  an  unhappy 
union." 

"Better  and  better!"  cried  the  baron  ironically. 
"But  you  are  really  very  amusing,  incomparably  so 
when  the  whole  is  out.  You  yourself  have  serious 
thoughts  of  marrying  my  daughter,  perhaps." 

"I  have  not  said  so,"  replied  Maurits,  in  a  tone  so 
serious  that  the  baron  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 


THE    CONFERENCE  jjgg 

"I  wish  only  to  rescue  her  from  a  man  whom  I  de- 
spise. " 

"Indeed!  you  despise  Count  Stjernekrantz,  young 
gentleman!  What  have  you  against  him,  pray?  It 
would  gratify  me  much  to  hear." 

"Do  you  remember,  sir  baron,  a  hunting  party  which 
about  ten  years  ago  assembled  at  Odensvik?  You 
were  one  of  the  party." 

"I  recollect  it.      Well,  what  more?" 

"Do  you  recall  that  you  saw  a  young  boy  leading  a 
blind  woman  by  the  hand  along  the  road  through  the 
forest?  That  blind  woman  was  ridden  down  and 
trampled  to  death  by  Count  Stjernekrantz'  horse,  and 
he  did  not  trouble  himself  about  it.  You  were  with 
him,  sir  baron,  and  rode  by  as  well  without  deigning 
so  much  as  a  glance  at  the  dying  woman  and  her  son. 
Her  blood  was  bedewing  the  grass  while  you,  wholly 
indifferent,  plunged  on  after  your  game.  Naturally 
enough,  for  it  was  only  a  peasant  woman  who  lay 
there  bleeding. " 

The  baron  had  suddenly  become  serious.  The 
scornful  smile  disappeared  from  his  lips,  and  his 
voice  trembled  noticeably  when  he  answered: 

"I  recall  indistinctly  that  sad  accident,  but  I  never 
knew  who  the  woman  was.  Moreover,  it  was  not  I 
who  rode  her  down." 

"No,  it  was,  as  I  have  said,  Count  Stjernekrantz. 
And  the  law,  calling  it  an  accident,  was  satisfied  with 
a  few  dollars,  I  remember  well.  Baron  Ehrenstam, 
that  woman  was  my  mother,  and  the  boy  who  led  her 
by  the  hand  was  I." 

"Ha!  I  suspected  as  much!"  muttered  the  baron 
between  his  teeth. 

"As  I  have  said,"  resumed  Maurits,     "it  was    I,  and 


600  THE    PLAY    OF    TATli 

you  need  not  be  surprised  after  that  happening  that  I 
entertain  a  decided  dislike  for  Count  Stjernekrantz. 
But  this  is  not  enough.  His  habits  of  life  have  also 
been  such  as  to  horrify  any  one  who  has  the  least  re- 
gard for  morality  and  virtue.  For  these  reasons,  sir 
baron,  it  is  my  wish  that  Miss  Isabella  shall  not  be 
forced  to  become  the  wife  of  that  man." 

"Well,  well!  and  these  are  your  wishes!"  said  the 
baron,  resuming  his  former  ironical  manner.  "Do  you 
not  know,  young  man,  that  you  amuse  me  very  much? 
But  tell  me,  for  the  fun  of  the  thing,  by  what  right 
you  meddle  with  my  private  affairs." 

"Listen,  sir  baron,"  resumed  Maurits,  "are  you  in- 
vited to  Lonnvik  to-morrow?" 

"No,"  answered  the  baron,  surprised  at  the  question, 
"what  has  Lonnvik  to  do  with  it?" 

"It  is  a  sort  of  literary  gathering,  and  the  lady  has 
requested  me  to  read  a  few  scenes  from  my  play,  'The 
Amber  Heart,'  for  the  entertainment  of  her  guests. 
Apropos,  sir  baron,  do  you  know  the  history  of  the 
amber  heart?  :1 

If  lightning  had  struck  at  the  baron's  feet,  he  could 
not  have  been  more  amazed  than  at  Maurits'  question. 
He  could  only  stare  at  the  young  man,  his  tongue 
refusing  to  move. 

"Well,"  continued  Maurits,  "you  do  not  answer.  I 
ask,  do  you  know  the  history  of  the  amber  heart?" 

"What  history?"  stammered  the  baron, the  cold  sweat 
breaking  out  on  his  forehead. 

"Ah,  it  is  a  very  interesting  story.  It  deals  with  an 
inhuman  father  and  an  unfortunate  son." 

"Hush!  for  God's  sake,  sir!"  gasped  the  baron,  en- 
deavoring to  regain  his  self-possession.  "Don't  shout 
so;  some  one  in  the  salon  might  hear  us.  To  the 
point,  what  do  you  wish?" 


THE  CONFERENCE  6oi 

"I  have  already  told  you.  You  have  not  so  soon 
forgotten  the  two  matters  which,  a  few  minutes  ago, 
seemed  impossible  for  you  to  yield?" 

"And  if  I  refuse?" 

"Then  I  will  recite  to-morrow  at  Lonnvik,  to  the 
whole  neighborhood,  the  history  of  the  amber  heart, 
also  reveal  the  names  of  the  persons  who  were  actors 
in  the  real  drama." 

"Sir!  "  roared  the  baron,  stamping  the  floor,  "it  is 
beneath  the  dignity  of  a  gentleman — base — to  avail 
yourself  ot  a  knowledge,  —what  do  I  say?— of  a  rumor 
that  you  have  picked  up!" 

"Not  at  all,  sir  baron,"  answered  Maurits  coldly. 
"It  were  both  base  and  ungentlemanly  if  I  made  use  of 
it  for  my  own  advantage,  but,  employing  it  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  inducing  you  to  perform  two  acts  of  justice 
and  humanity,  I  fail  to  see  anything  censurable  in  it." 

The  cool  determination  with  which  the  young  man 
spoke,  roused  the  baron's  fury  to  a  fearful  pitch. 
He  rushed  back  and  forth  across  the  room  like  a  caged 
tiger,  tearing  at  his  gray  leeks  while  pouring  out  a 
storm  of  curses  upon  Maurits'  head. 

The  latter  listened  indifferently,  and  without  a  re- 
tort, a  scornful  smile  playing  upon  his  lips.  At  length 
he  lost  patience. 

"See  here,  sir  baron,  we  have  had  enough  of  this. 
You  are  accomplishing  nothing.  Let  us  discuss  the 
matter  calmly,  otherwise  I  shall  take  my  leave,  and 
you  may  depend  upon  it  that  the  whole  region  here- 
about will  know  in  the  morning  a  story  that  you  may 
well  wish  buried  in  oblivion." 

'If  I  consent  to  your  demands,"  said  the  baron, 
pausing  before  Maurits. 

"I  will  not  go  to  Lonnvik  to-morrow." 

V. 
\ 


6O2  THE     PLAY    OF    FATE 

"And  you  will  keep  silent?" 

"I  give  you  my  word  of  honor  upon  it." 

"But  how  did  that  cursed  story  get  to  your  ears, 
sir?" 

"That  is  my  secret.  It  is  enough  that  I  know  it, 
and  that  I  could  prove  the  truth  of  it.1' 

"Prove,  what  could  you  prove?  Nothing.  But  you 
can  slander  me,  and  can  make  me  an  object  of  scorn 
in  the  eyes  of  fools.  Ah,  curse  the  thing!'1 

The  baron  was  again  on  the  point  of  being  carried 
away  by  his  fury,  but  this  time,  by  an  almost  super- 
human effort,  he  succeeded  in  quelling  it. 

"You  see,  sir  baron,  that  the  only  course  remaining 
to  you  is  to  assent  to  my  demands  if  you  would  es- 
cape this  scandal." 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do,  then?" 

"Be  seated  and  write  as  I  dictate." 

Maurits'  tones  were  so  commanding,  the  movement 
by  which  he  motioned  him  to  a  writing-table  was  so 
peremptory,  that  the  baron,  without  opposition,  took 
a  seat  and  grasped  a  pen. 

Maurits  dictated  and  the  baron  wrote: 

"The  undersigned  pledges  himself  here  upon  his 
honor  to  not  alone  cease  to  oppose,  but  that  he  will 
in  alt  ways  support  the  school  for  the  tuition  of  the 
peasant  children,  recently  established  by  Magisler 
Holmer  at  Marielund,  and  binds  himself,  besides,  to 
contribute  for  the  support  of  said  school  the  sum  of 
five  hundred  dollars  in  cash,  which  sum  shall  be  paid 
over  unconditionally  to  Magister  Holmer  to  be  dis- 
pensed as  may  seem  to  him  best." 

"Good!"  said  Maurits,  when  the  baron  with  sup- 
pressed anger  had  written  these  words;  "nothing  is 
wanting  but  your  name  and  seal." 


THE   CONFERENCE  603 

The  baron  signed  the  document,  and  affixed  his  seal. 

"Now  give  it  to  me,"   said  Maurits. 

The  paper  was  delivered  to  Maurits,  read  over  care- 
fully and  deposited  in  his  pocket. 

"This  is  only  one,"  said  the  young  man;  "now  to 
the  more  serious  question,  Miss  Ehrenstam's  mar- 
riage. " 

"Let  this  be  enough  for  the  present,"  said  the  baron. 
"Do  not  drive  me  to  extremes." 

"Remember  the  amber  heart,  sir  baron." 

"Listen,  sir!  I  will  give  you  one  thousand  dollars 
cash,  and  a  like  sum  annually  for  three  years  if  you 
will  desist  from  your  demand." 

"Impossible,  sir.  I  might  be  angry  at  your  propo- 
sition, but  you  cannot  offend  me." 

"Ha,  the  devil  take  you!  Do  not  drive  me  to  vio- 
lence!" roared  the  baron,  with  a  glance  that  would 
have  slain  Maurits  on  the  spot  if  there  were  power 
in  eyes  to  kill;  "you  abuse  the  power  that  accident  has 
given  you  over  me." 

"Sir  baron,  shall  I  go  to  Lonnvik  in  the  morning  or 
not?" 

"But  what  guarantee  have  I  that  you  will  hold  your 
tongue  even  if  I  comply  with  your  request  to  allow 
Isabella  to  choose  for  herself!" 

"You  must  rely  upon  my  honor.  At  any  rate,  you 
will  be  freed  from  your  obligation  if  you  hear  that  I 
have  violated  mine." 

"Come  here  to  morrow  morning,"  said  the  baron 
curtly.  "You  shall  then  have  my  answer.  But  leave 
me  now,"  pointing  to  the  door. 

Maurits  bowed  himself  out,  leaving  the  baron  in  a 
state  of  mind  that  may  be  imagined  by  the  reader, who 
has  been  made  acquainted  with  his  character. 


604  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"The  devil  take  him!"  exclaimed  he,  when  Maurits 
was  gone.  "If  I  could  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
that  youngster  hanged,  I  would  give  half  of  my  re- 
maining life.  How  stupid  to  be  so  afraid  of  public 
opinion  as  I!  Why  may  I  not  let  him  and  all  prate  as 
much  as  they  please?  What  need  I  care?  But  no,  it 
is  impossible.  All  mankind  would  shun  and  curse  me 
if  they  should  learn  that  I  sent  my  own  son  to  the 
whipping  post,  and  afterward  had  him  locked  up  in 
a  house  of  correction.  That  story  let  loose  by  one  of 
the  authors  of  the  day  would  have  its  effect.  No,  I 
cannot  face  the  thing.  There  is  no  other  course  for 
me,  then,  but  to  consent  to  his  wishes,  and  allow 
Isabella  to  have  her  own  way  about  this  marriage  — 
a  marriage  for  which  I  have  labored  so  many  years. 
Curses  upon  the  fellow!  "  And  again  the  baron  with 
swift  paces  strode  back  and  forth  across  the  room, 
grating  his  teeth. 

Meantime,  Maurits  passed  through  the  salon  out 
into  the  garden  on  his  way  to  the  parsonage. 

"I  have  won  the  game,"  soliloquized  he.  "He  will 
come  to  his  reason  whatever  effort  it  may  cost  him, 
for  they  are  few  who  have  greater  respect  for  public 
opinion  than  he. 

"My  plan  of  operation  was  based  upon  a  knowledge 
of  human  nature  and  it  succeeded.  I  can  give  Isabella 
a  good  account  of  my  morning's  work  when  I  meet 
her  this  evening.  I  will  allow  her  to  decide  whether 
I  shall  announce  myself  as  a  Count  Stjernekrantz  and, 
assuming  my  lawful  name,  request  her  hand.  If  she 
demands  it,  1  will  obey.  She  shall  know  all!" 

Busied  with  these  thoughts,  Maurits  arrived  at  the 
parsonage. 

Pastor  Bergholm  and  Holmer  were  seated  on  the 
steps  smoking. 


THE   CONFERENCE  605 

"Well,  mi  fill, "  said  the  pastor,  as  Maurits  took  a 
seat  by  his  side,  "where  do  you  come  from?" 

"From  Liljedahl." 

"You  have  then  spoken  to  the  baron  about  my 
school?"  inquired  Holmer. 

"See  here,  read!  "  and  Maurits  handed  him  the  doc- 
ument written  by  .the  baron  at  his  dictation. 

Holmer  read  and  rubbed  his  eyes,  believing  himself 
dreaming. 

"Read  aloud,"   said  the  pastor.      "What  is  it?" 

Holmer  read  the  paper. 

'Are  you  a  wizard,  boy!"  cried  the  pastor,  over- 
whelmed with  surprise.  "How  did  you  manage  it?" 

"That  is  a  secret,"  said  Maurits. 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Holmer,  "truth  has  won  the  vic- 
tory and  my  pet  idea  will  no  longer  meet  with  oppo- 
sition; for  if  Baron  Ehrenstam  gives  it  his  approval, 
we  may  defy  the  others.  Ihey  will  soon  hasten  to 
follow  his  example." 

"Let  us  hope  so,"  said  Maurits.  "You  may  at  least 
count  upon  the  children  of  Liljedahl  to  begin  with. 
Regarding  Odensvik,  I  believe  it  possible  to  compel 
Count  Stjernekrantx  also  to  give  his  support  to  the 
project." 

"Have  you  said  anything  to  the  count  about  the 
dreadful  accident  to  your  mother?"  asked  the  pastor. 

"Not  a  word.  But  he  appeared  to  recognize  my  name, 
'for  upon  seeing  me  at  Liljedahl  some  days  ago  he  was 
very  much  agitated.  It  may  be  he  felt  the  stings  of 
conscience. " 

"Yes,  yes,  that  will  not  be  quieted.  But,  come  now? 
Brita  announced  dinner  waiting." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE      ARBOR 

On  the  same  day,  and  at  the  same  hour  with  the  in- 
cidents of  the  foregoing  chapter,  we  find  Eberhard 
alone  in  his  private  room  at  Odensvik — the  room  into 
which  we  took  the  reader  in  our  description  of  Christ- 
mas evening.  It  has  undergone  a  wonderful  change 
since  then,  however.  The  tapestry  is  dark,  and  the 
furniture  dusky  in  harmony  with  the  occupant's  tem- 
per. Heavy  curtains  of  blood-red  material  cover  the 
windows,  for  the  count  dislikes  daylight,  and  cannot 
endure  the  rays  of  the  sun.  Wrapped  in  a  comfortable 
dressing-gown,  Eberhard  is  pacing  to  and  fro  over  the 
soft  carpeted  floor.  His  step  is  unsteady;  his  eyes 
glow  with  anger  and  passion;  his  hands  are  clenched 
convulsively,  and  his  whole  appearance  indicates  the 
keenest  suffering.  His  face  is  not  so  rigid  and  impas- 
sive as  when  we  saw  him  among  his  fellows.  Left  to 
himself,  the  count  makes  no  effort  to  conceal  his  feel- 
ings. His  soul  is  allowed  free  expression  through  his 
features,  but  his  deathly  paleness  is  always  with  him. 

"D  urination!"  muttered  he,  I!that  woman  makes  me 
furious.  What  disdain,  what  contempt  in  her  manner 
and  speech.  Before  she  will  be  mine,  she  will  leave 
her  father's  house,  submit  to  every  insult,  dare  any- 
thing, I  am  sure.  She  abhors  me  too  deeply  not  to 
be  ready  to  endure  anything  rather  than  be  my  wife. 
I  love  her,  nevertheless;  I  love  her  with  a  passion, 

606 


THE    ARBOR 


607 


with  a  madness  that  I  would  not  have  believed  possi- 
ble. Why!  Because,  may  be,  her  obstinacy  provokes 
me,  or  else  that  she  is  so  beautiful;  so  beautiful  that 
I  have  never  seen  her  equal  except  Angela,  my  sister. 
If  any  one  had  told  me  at  the  time  of  Angela's  flight 
that  I  would  ever  love  another  with  such  consuming 
passion,  I  should  have  laughed  in  his  face,  and  to  find 
that  she  whom  I  love  hates  and  despises  me!  To  see 
her  love  another,  him  whose  mother  I  killed  and  who 
is  my  brother,  perhaps,  — for  she  loves  him,  there  is 
no  doubt— ha!  curses  on  my  luck!  Crispin,  you  are 
the  evil  genius  of  my  life.  If  you  could  see  me  at 
this  instant,  you  would  find  yourself  more  cruelly  re- 
venged than  when  you  hit  upon  the  brilliant  scheme 
of  leading  my  sister  into  my  embrace.  O,  ye  dark 
powers  of  fate!  Ye  that  with  iron  hands  rule  the 
world,  I  appeal  to  you!  Give  me  an  instrument  with 
which  I  may  crush  that  proud  spirit!" 

At  this  instant,  the  door  opened,  and  a  servant  en- 
tered bearing  a  salver  and  on  it  a  letter. 

"Sir  count,"  said  he,  "one  of  the  peasants  has  left 
this  letter  addressed  to  you.  It  is  of  great  importance, 
I  am  told." 

Eberhard  took  the  letter    and  the  servant  withdrew. 

The  missive  was  written  on  a  piece  of  very  coarse 
dirty  paper,  and  was  sealed  with  moistened  bread, 
but  the  superscription  denoted  a  hand  accustomed  to 
the  use  of  a  pen,  and  the  composition  and  spelling 
were  those  of  a  person  of  some  education. 

"What  have  I  here!"  muttered  Eberhard,  breaking 
the  seal.  "A  begging  letter,  I  dare  say." 

But  as  the  count  read, the  wrinkles  disappeared  from 
his  brow,  and  when  he  had  finished,  a  flash  of  fiendish 
joy  lighted  up  his  dark  features. 


608  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

The  epistle  read : 

"Sir  Count,  Miss  Ehrenstam  loves  Mr.  Sterner,  and 
has  promised  to  meet  him  in  the  park  this  evening 
after  sunset.  Means  will  be  employed  to  hinder  his 
reaching  the  place  of  rendezvous  at  the  appointed 
time.  Go  there  in  his  stead.  Avail  yourself  of  the 
darkness  and  your  adventitious  resemblance  to  the  ex- 
pected lover.  You  will  find  the  girl  in  the  arbor  on 
the  farthest  island  to  the  right.  If  she  asks  you  what 
account  you  bring  of  your  visit  to  her  father,  you  are 
to  say  that  all  is  lost;  that  you  must  be  parted. 
Young,  spirited  and  passionate  as  she  is,  she  will  sink 
into  your  arms,  believing  herself  in  the  embrace  of 
her  lover.  The  rest  is  in  your  hands.  You  understand 
me." 

The  letter  bore  no  signature. 

"Ha!"  ejaculated  Eberhard  with  wild  triumph. 
"Was  I  not  right  in  calling  upon  the  blind  powers 
of  fortune!  Fate  plays  my  way  this  time.  It  puts  into 
my  hand  means  that  I  shall  know  how  to  use.  Ah!  Isa- 
bella, if  I  cannot  win  your  love,  I  will  give  you  and 
your  lover  an  incurable  wound  at  the  least.  If  I 
succeed  you  must  be  mine — must  become  my  wife  or 
die!  But,  who  can  have  written  this  letter?  I  must 
know  this.  I  must  know  what  imp  of  the  devil  has  con- 
ceived this  stratagem.  It  is  a  good  one,  nevertheless. 
Clearly,  fate  smiles  upon  me," 

The  sun  sank  in  blood.  Dark  clouds  chased  each 
other  across  the  firmament,  and  concealed  the  moon, 
except  as  it  now  and  then  showed  itself  from  between 
the  broken  masses.  The  air,  warmed  by  the  sun  of 


THE    ARBOR  609 

the  day,  was  still  hot  and  sultry,  for  the  fresh  breezes 
from  the  sea  had  not  yet  tempered  the  atmosphere. 

A  man  wrapped  in  a  wide  cloak  crept  stealthily 
along  the  paths  and  walks  of  Liljedahl  park.  The 
darkness,  by  this  time  quite  fallen,  almost  completely 
hid  his  features  which  were  further  obscured  by  the 
upturned  collar  of  his  cloak,  and  his  hat  drawn  far 
down  over  his  eyes. 

Eberhard,  for  it  was  he,  reached  the  designated 
island  without  interruption.  He  passed  over  the 
bridge  to  the  arbor,  the  interior  of  which  was  wrapped 
in  total  darkness.  An  instant,  but  only  an  instant, 
did  his  heart  tremble  with  misgivings.  He  was  soon 
himself  again,  and  entering  the  arbor,  whispered  softly, 
"Isabella,  are  you  there?" 

"Yes,"  responded  a  female  voice  from  an  obscure 
corner,  "is  it  you,  Maurits?" 

"Yes,  it  is  I,  my  love,"  answered  the  count. 

He  suddenly  felt  himself  folded  in  a  pair  of  soft 
arms,  felt  two  lips  seeking  his  own,  and  a  young  heart 
beating  against  his  breast. 

Eberhard  wound  his  arm  around  Isabella's  waist  and 
bore  her  gently  to  the  moss  bank,  where  he  seated 
himself  by  her  side. 

"Maurits,"  said  Isabella,  "you  are  silent.  O,  say, 
what  word  do  you  bring  me!" 

"All  is  lost,  Isabella,"  said  the  count  in  a  voice  be- 
wilderingly  like  Maurits';  "all  is  lost.  We  must 
part!" 

"Part!  God  in  heaven,  he  raves!  Have  you  spoken 
with  my  father,  Maurits? " 

"Yes,"  returned  the  count  gloomily,  "there  remains 
no  hope.  He  scorned  and  insulted  me.  We  must 
part.  I  have  come  to  bid  you  farewell." 


6lO  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Great  God!"  Isabella  burst  forth  in  despair,  "what 
then  will  become  of  me?  Shall  I  be  forced  to  become 
the  wife  of  that  vile  creature  whom  I  abhor  and  hate 
as  deeply  as  I  love  you,  my  Maurits,  my  all,  my  heaven 
on  earth?  No,  no,  you  cannot  be  so  cruel!  You  cannot 
abandon  me  to  my  fate!" 

The  wildest  feelings  raged  in  the  breast  of  Eber- 
hard  at  these  utterances.  Anger,  jealousy,  rage  tumbled 
furiously  over  each  other  within  him.  But  he  subdued 
them,  and  answered  in  a  tone  as  full  of  regret  as  pos- 
sible, "Isabella,  let  us  then  die  together  if  we  may 
not  belong  to  each  other  in  life.  Without  you  I  will 
not  live.  Come,  my  bride,  my  all  on  earth,  come  to 
my  arms  and  press  closer  to  .my  breast.  Let  me  feel 
that  your  heart  responds  to  the  beat  of  my  own.  Let 
me  intoxicate  myself  with  the  nectar  of  your  lips.  I 
love  you,  Isabella!  I  love  you  as  no  woman  was  ever 
before  loved!" 

Half  unconscious,  the  young  girl  pressed  closer  to 
his  breast.  As  a  stream  of  fire,  her  blood  surged 
under  her  white  skin  and  her  heart  threatened  to  burst 
from  its  imprisonment. 

The  villain  conquered. 

Supported  by  Eberhard's  arm,  Isabella  staggered, 
more  dead  than  alive,  out  of  the  arbor. 

"Maurits!"  cried  she,   "O  Maurits!" 

She  did  not  get  beyond  this,  for  they  now  stood  out- 
side the  entrance  of  the  dark  arbor,  and  the  moon,  as 
it  broke  out  from  between  the  sundered  clouds,  showed 
her  clearly  Eberhard's  face.  A  hellish  glee  was  play- 
ing upon  his  lips,  and  his  eyes  flashed  the  victor's  tri 
umph. 

The  count  had  laid  back  his  cloak  collar,  and  lifted 
his  hat  so  that  his  features  were  now  clearly  distin- 
guishable. 


THE    ARBOR  6ll 

Isabella  stared  at  him  like  one  crazed,  and  was  on 
the  verge  of  losing  her  senses.  The  terrible  reality 
smote  her  like  a  two-edged  sword  thrust  through  her 
breast,  still  she  battled  with  her  feelings,  unable  to 
realize  fully  the  horror  of  her  position. 

"Well,  my  lady!"  said  Eberhard,  when  he  had  en- 
joyed his  triumph  for  a  time  in  silence,  "do  you  rec- 
ognize me?  Do  you  recognize  the  hated,  the  detested 
being,  who  has,  notwithstanding,  pressed  you  in  his 
arms  as  his  bride?  You  love  another,  and  thought 
yourself  secure  in  his  embrace,  but  you  forgot  to  take 
into  account  the  play  of  fate.  Now,  now,  you  can  no 
longer  refuse  to  be  my  wife.  You  are  already  my  wife! 
But  I  must  away.  Farewell  for  the  present.  I  hear  the 
footsteps  of  the  other—the  one  whom  you  expected. 
But  he  comes  too  late,  ha!  ha!" 

As  swiftly  as  if  pursued  by  the  furies,  Eberhard 
fled  from  the  spot,  and  disappeared  among  the  trees. 

At  this  instant  Isabella  uttered  a  heart-rending 
shriek  and  sank  insensible  to  the  ground.  There 
Maurits  found  her  as  with  the  utmost  speed  and  ap- 
prehension he  reached  the  spot. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE   EXPLANATION 

We  must  go  back  an  hour  in  order  to  relate  the  cir- 
cumstances that  detained  Maurits  on  his  way,  and 
caused  him  to  be  late  at  the  place  of  meeting. 

When  Maurits,  having  counted  impatiently  the  drag- 
ging hours  of  the  afternoon,  set  out  from  the  parson- 
age, the  sun  had  already  set,  but  he  hoped,  notwith- 
standing, by  quickening  his  pace,  to  be  first  at  the 
trysting  place. 

He  hurried  on  with  light  and  elastic  steps,  his  heart 
beating  with  joy  in  his  breast,  and  the  blessedness  of 
love  filling  his  soul  with  gladness.  He  had  reached 
the  path  that  led  from  the  highway  to  the  park  of 
Liljedahl  when  his  steps  were  suddenly  checked  at 
sight  of  a  man  seated'  upon  the  edge  of  the  ditch. 
It  was  sufficiently  light  for  him  to  distinguish  the 
features  of  the  man,  features  so  indelibly  impressed 
upon  his  mind  that  they  awoke  in  his  breast  a  flood 
of  ineradicable  recollections. 

Jacob  Kron,  for  it  was  he,  rose  from  the  ground  as 
Maurits  approached,  dragging  with  seeming  effort  to- 
ward him,  and,  removing  his  hat,  drawled  out  in 
pleading  tones:  "For  the  love  of  charity,  sir,  give  a 
poor  wanderer  a  copper!  I  am  perishing  of  hunger!" 

"Jacob  Kron!"  ejaculated  Maurits. 

"What,  do  my  eyes  deceive  me!"  exclaimed  Jacob 
612 


THE    EXPLANATION  613 

in  assumed  astonishment.  "Yes,  as  I  live,  I  do  not 
mistake!  It  is  Mr.  Sterner." 

"You  recognize  me,  then?"   said  Haunts. 

"Yes,  I  have  never  forgotten  your  face.  Do  you 
remember  when  I  bore  your  murdered  and  bleeding 
mother  in  my  arms  to  the  deserted  hut  in  the  forest?" 

"God!  O  God!"  cried  the  young  man,  painfully 
moved  by  the  recollection  that  banished  from  his 
mind  the  appointment  he  was  hastening  to  keep,  "If 
I  could  ever  forget  that,  Jacob,  I  were  an  ungrateful 
son!" 

"Mr.  Sterner,"  said  Jacob,  "I  have  something  to  tell 
you  that  has  burdened  me  a  long  time.  By  your 
mother's  memory,  by  the  memory  of  the  time  when  I 
carried  the  little  ten  year-old  boy's  bundle  of  sticks 
through  the  forest,  I  beg  you  give  me  a  few  minutes' 
attention.  Let  us  go  a  little  to  one  side  of  the  road." 

Maurits  lacked  heart  to  refuse.  "Isabella  must  wait," 
said  he  to  himself,  "and  she  will  not  be  angry  when 
she  knows  the  cause  of  my  delay.  Besides,  he  is  her 
brother. " 

"I  will  follow  you,  Jacob,"  said  Maurits  aloud. 
"See  here,  let  us  be  seated  at  the  foot  of  yonder  oak. 
No  one  can  see  or  hear  us  there."  They  left  the  high- 
road  and  seated  themselves  at  the  designated  place. 

"Jacob,"  said  Maurits,  "you  asked  me  to  give  you 
a  copper.  You  are  still  unfortunate  and  poor.  Matters 
have  not  become  any  brighter  for  you?" 

"No,"  returned  Jacob  despondently,  "on  the  con- 
trary, they  have  become  darker." 

"Poor  man!    how  have  you  lived  these  years?" 

"By  times  in  prison  for  my  crimes,  by  times  among 
my  comrades, vagabonds  in  Stockholm;  by  times  tramp- 
ing the  country  highways,  thrust  out  and  spurned 
wherever  I  go." 


614  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"O  God,  this  is  terrible!  And  he  who  gave  you 
being,  living  yonder!  You  have  not  seen  him  again, 
you  have  not  sought  him  in  your  distress?" 

"No." 

"And  your  schemes  for  revenge,  you  have,  of  course, 
given  them  up,"  said  Maurits  anxiously. 

"Yes." 

''And  it  is  best,  Jacob,  for  there  is  surely  a  God 
that  punishes." 

"A  God!"  and  the  bandit  laughed  bitterly.  "Ah, 
yes!  there  is  a  God  for  the  fortunate,  for  the  rich. 
For  the  poor  there  is  none." 

"Still  the  same  cheerless  teachings." 

"Listen,  young  man.  Do  you  remember  that  out- 
side the  cottage  to  which  we  bore  your  mother,  I  spoke 
to  you  of  a  daughter?" 

"I  recollect  it,"  said  Maurits.  "  Is  it  of  her  you 
wish  to  speak?  O,  say,  where  is  she?  Can  I  do  any- 
thing for  her?  I  owe  you  much  gratitude,  Jacob,  and 
I  am  ready  to  seize  every  opportunity  to  recompense 
you.  Have  you  found  her?" 

Jacob  did  not  answer  immediately.  A  terrible  strug- 
gle was  at  the  instant  going  on  within  him.  The 
youth  who  so  nobly  offered  to  succor  his  child,  could 
he  have  the  courage  to  crush  him  for  the  sake  of  blind 
revenge?  Should  he  reward  good  with  evil,  and  in- 
flict upon  Maurits'  heart  an  incurable  wound?  For 
an  instant,  he  was  ready  to  cast  himself  at  the  feet  of 
the  young  man  and  confess  all — reveal  the  devilish 
intrigue  by  which  he  had  caught  Isabella  in  his  snare, 
and  exhort  him  to  hasten  to  her  rescue  ere  it  was  too 
late.  But  the  evil  powers  gained  mastery,  and  Jacob 
said  to  himself,  as  Eberhard  said  when  he  hurled  his 
father  from  the  rock  into  the  river  Inn,  "It  is  not  I, 
it  is  fate." 


THE    EXPLANATION  615 

"You  do  not  answer,  "  said  Maurits  finally.  "Tell 
me,  Jacob,  have  you  found  your  daughter?  " 

"Yes,  I  have  found  her,"  answered  the  beggar,  who 
with  the  memory  regained  all  of  his  soul's  bitterness. 

"When  and  where?"  cried  Maurits. 

"I  found  her,"  resumed  Jacob,  in  cold  and  measured 
tones,  'I  found  her  the  mistress  of  George  Ehrenstam, 
as  the  debutante  in  a  drama  entitled  'The  Amber 
Heart.'" 

"You  lie!"  thundered  Maurits,  grasping  him  by  the 
arm.    "O,  tell  me  that  you  are  deceived!     It  cannot  be 
so!      It  is  impossible!      Helena    is  not  your  daughter! 
God  of  heaven!      It  is  horrible!" 

"Helena  is  my  daughter.  I  have  seen  her  mother 
again.  One  brother  seduced  the  mother,  the  other 
murdered  the  daughter's  innocence!" 

Wholly  overcome,  Maurits  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

"And  the  third  brother,  whose  wife  and  daughter 
were  prostituted  by  the  others — it  is  I,"  continued 
Jacob  with  a  scornful  laugh. 

"Unfortunate  man !  How  terribly  you  have  suffered  !  " 
cried  Maurits. 

"Sir,"  said  Jacob,  "I  have  paced  through  long,  cold 
autumn  nights  outside  my  daughter's  brilliantly  lighted 
windows;  I  have  heard  the  sound  of  the  orgies  that 
were  under  way  within;  I  have  seen  the  shadows  of 
two  lovers  on  the  drawn  curtains  in  her  bed  chamber 
—  and  I  still  live." 

"O,  my  God!  Do  you  know,  too,  what  part  I 
played  in  this  unfortunate  affair?  Do  you  know  that 
I  was  the  innocent  cause  of  your  daughter's  down- 
fall!" 

"I  know  it.      She  who  was  my  wife,  and  who  allowed 


6l6  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

herself  to  be  hoodwinked  by  George,  imagining  she 
could  see  the  finger  of  God  in  the  incident,  has  told 
me  all. " 

"But  do  not  hate  me,  Jacob!"  resumed  Maurits,  in 
almost  pleading  tones,  "do  not  hate  me!  I  swear  that 
I  wished  your  daughter  well;  though,  young  and  in- 
experienced as  I  then  was,  I  allowed  myself  to  be 
duped  by  that  cunning  deceiver  who  seduced  her." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Jacob,  "and  I  do  not  blame  you, 
I  do  not  hate  you.  I  complain  at  nothing  but  fate." 

During  this  conversation  it  had  become   quite  dark. 

Maurits  observed  this  with  uneasiness,  and  addressed 
the  beggar  as  he  rose: 

"I  must  go  now,  Jacob,  but  meet  me  here  to-morrow, 
when  we  will  resume  this  conversation.  Meanwhile, 
I  will  try  to  think  out  some  plan  that  will  keep  you 
from  want,  for  you  will  not  appeal  to  your  daughter's 
charity  any  sooner  than  to  your  father's." 

"No,  I  have  not  even  revealed  myself  to  her.  I 
have  spoken  with  her  but  once,  and  then  she  offered 
me  alms. " 

"Farewell,  Jacob,"  said  Maurits  with  growing  anx- 
iety, as  he  saw  that  night  was  full  on.  "At  this  hour 
to-morrow  we  will  meet  here." 

He  turned  to  go. 

"One  word  more,  Mr.  Sterner,"  called  Jacob. 

Maurits  halted. 

"The  amber  heart,  return  it  to  me." 

''Impossible!      What  would  you  do  with  it?" 

"I  would  keep  it  in  memory  of  my  mother.  Give 
it  to  me." 

'f  haven't  it." 

"Have  you  lost  it?" 

"No,  but  I  have  given  it  to  its  owner.  Good  night, 
Jacob." 


THE    EXPLANATION  617 

He  hastened  swiftly  away. 

Jacob  laughed  wildly.  "Go,  thou  fool!"  muttered 
he;  "what  will  you  find?  Curses  upon  you!" 

Jacob's  narrative  had  depressed  Maurits'  spirits 
very  much,  but  he  had  no  time  now  for  reflections. 
He  must  hasten  to  her  whom  he  loved  so  madly. 

Isabella's  cry  of  distress  now  reached  his  ears,  and 
filled  him  with  alarm.  He  plunged  forward,  and  saw 
a  man  wrapped  in  a  cloak  flee  from  the  spot,  saw  his 
love  lying  in  a  faint  at  the  foot  of  a  tree. 

"  Isabella,  awake!"  cried  Maurits,  lifting  her  from 
the  ground,  and  covering  her  pale  cheeks  with  kisses. 
"For  heaven's  sake!  what  has  happened!" 

The  young  woman  opened  her  eyes.  Upon  realizing 
that  she  was  held  in  some  one's  arms,  she  thrust  him 
back  with  a  cry  of  horror,  and  with  a  violent  effort  re- 
leased herself  from  his  embrace. 

"Get  thee  gone,  Satan!"  she  cried,  believing  herself 
yet  in  the  embrace  of  Eberhard. 

"Isabella,  do  you  not  know  me?"  said  Maurits  anx- 
iously, "it  is  I,  it  is  your  Maurits.  O,  do  you  love 
me  no  longer!" 

"Maurits,  is  it  you,"  said  Isabella,  as  one  waking 
from  a  long  and  terrible  dream,  "when  did  you  come?" 

"Just  at  this  instant,  and  I  found  you  lying  in  a 
faint  here,  and  saw  a  man  running  away.  For  God's 
sake,  what  has  happened!" 

"Leave  me,  Maurits!  Leave  me!"  cried  the  young 
woman,  in  tones  so  heart-rending,  so  full  of  agony, 
that  Maurits'  heart  quaked.  "O,  flee  from  the  outcast, 
the  damned!" 

"What  do  you  say,  Isabella!  You  rave!  Why 
should  I  flee?" 

"Maurits,   you  saw  a  man  hasten  from  here?  ' 

"Yes." 


6l8  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Well,   it  was  Count  Stjernektantz. " 

A  terrible  suspicion  rushed  like  a  dart  through  Mau- 
rits'  breast;  he  became  deathly  pale! 

"Count  Stjernekrantz!  "  repeated  he,  "and  what  did 
he  wish?" 

"He  came  to  me  in  the  arbor.  It  was  dark.  I  did 
not  recognize  him,  1  thought  it  you.  He  spoke  of  a 
separation,  of  the  scorn,  of  the  disdain  he  had  suffered 
at  the  hands  of  my  father.  In  despair,  I  sank  almost 
unconscious  into  his  arms,  believing  all  the  time  it 
was  you,  Maurits. " 

"What  further?" 

"What  further!  Do  you  not  read  it  on  my  fore- 
head?" continued  Isabella,  tottering  for  support 
against  the  tree.  "Has  not  dishonor  impressed  its 
stamp?  I  was  beside  myself  with  pain  and  despair, 
and  the  villain  availed  himself  of  my  condition.  You 
now  know  all,  Maurits.  Forgive  me,  and  farewell!" 

She  fell  to  her  knees  at  his  feet,  grasped  his  hand 
and  conveyed  it  to  her  burning  forehead.  But  within 
the  young  man  it  had  become  suddenly  dark  and  dis- 
mal. The  demons  were  again  awakened  in  his  soul. 

"Ha!"  cried  he  wildly,  as  he  pushed  the  kneeling 
girl  away,  "it  is  then  true!  Jacob  was  right!  There  is 
no  God !" 

"Have  pity,  Maurits!"  sobbed  the  unhappy  girl; 
"have  mercy!  Say  that  you  forgive  me  before  we  part 
forever.  O,  do  not  be  cruel!  Do  not  put  me  from  you 
in  disdain !" 

"Forgive  you,  Isabella!  What  am  I  that  I  may  for- 
give you?  I  do  not  blame  you,  it  is  fate." 

And  in  wild  doubt  he  wandered  away,  while  Isabella 
remained  kneeling  on  the  grass,  moistened  by  the 
night  dew. 


PART  V 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   TWO   BROTHERS 

It  was  the  day  succeeding  the  terrible  scene  with 
which  we  closed  the  preceding  chapter.  Eberhard, 
alone  in  his  room  at  Odensvik,  was  sitting  at  his 
writing-table,  his  head  upon  his  hands,  apparently 
absorbed  in  deep  thought.  The  day  was  cloudy  and 
rainy,  but  the  red  curtains  were  drawn,  notwithstand- 
ing, and  the  light  that  broke  through  them  cast  a  red- 
dish gleam  over  the  occupant's  pale  features.  The 
door  opened  suddenly,  whereupon  Eberhard  started 
and  turned  around.  Before  him  stood  Maurits  Stern- 
er. The  young  man's  face  was  pale  and  wore  an  ex- 
pression of  sadness;  his  eyes  blazed  with  threatening 
light,  and  a  dark  cloud  rested  on  his  high  forehead. 
Eberhard  seemed  to  be  almost  panic-stricken.  Speech- 
less, he  stared  at  the  tall,  dark  figure  that  stood  with 
folded  arms  before  him.  Silently  the  two  brothers 
regarded  each  other,  each  evidently  trying  to  measure 
the  depth  of  the  hate  that  gleamed  from  the  other's 
eyes.  At  length,  Eberhard  succeeded  in  mastering 
the  varied  feelings  that  raged  within  him,  and  with 
the  coldness  and  formalit)'  of  the  man  of  the  world, 
inquired:  "May  I  know  to  what  I  am  indebted  for 
the  honor  of  your  visit,  sir?" 

"Wretch!"  cried  Maurits,  in  a  voice  so  foreboding 
that  the  count  nearly  slid  from  his  chair,  "I  have  come 
to  bring  you  to  an  account  for  your  crime." 

621 


622  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Eberhard  trembled,  whether  with  anger  or  fear, 
we  will  leave  unsaid;  but  he  soon  collected  himself, 
and  the  usual  scornful  smile  played  upon  his  lips. 

"You  seem  to  be  out  of  sorts  to-day,  Mr.  Sterner," 
said  he  coldly.  "The  wretched  weather  has  depressed 
you.  But  why  should  you  allow  the  unpleasant  weath- 
er to  fall  upon  my  head,  and  by  what  right  do  you 
address  me  so  familiarly?" 

"A  brother's  right,"  returned  Maurits. 

"A  brother's!"  repeated  Eberhard.  "You  are  my 
brother,  then?  Well,  I  will  not  dispute  it.  It  is 
possible  that  my  father  has  had  his  little  love  affairs 
with  some  of  the  peasant  girls  in  the  village,  and  that 
you  may  be  the  fruit  thereof.  Candidly,  it  would 
not  surprise  me  if  such  is  the  case,  for  it  is  declared 
by  every  one  that  you  resemble  us  both  very  much." 

"You  are  not  altogether  right  in  your  conjectures, 
sir  count,"  said  Maurits  scornfully.  "These  certified 
copies  of  documents,  the  originals  of  which  are  in  my 
possession,  may,  perhaps,  throw  a  different  light  upon 
the  subject.  Read!" 

With  these  words,  he  threw  the  documents  in  ques- 
tion upon  the  table  before  Eberhard. 

They  were  attested  copies  of  Maurits'  birth  certifi- 
cate and  his  mother's  marriage  certificate. 

Eberhard,  hardly  knowing  whether  to  believe  his 
eyes,  grasped  the  papers  and  read  them. 

"Ha!"  cried  he,  springing  to  his  feet,  "you  are  then 
the  offspring  of  a  lawful  marriage  into  which  my 
father  entered  unknown  to  me.  But  it  is  impossible! 
You  are  an  impostor!  These  papers  are  surely  fabri- 
cated!" 

"The  priest  who  married  my  parents  is  still  alive," 
replied  Maurits  coldly. 


THE    TWO    BROTHERS  623 

"But  why  have  you  made  no  use  of  these  papers 
until  now?" 

"Because  I  would  not  bear  the  name  of  my  mother's 
murderer,  the  name  of  a  wretch  who  has  so  dishonored 
it;  because,  having  faith  in  my  own  ability  to  make 
my  way,  I  had  no  desire  for  the  riches  I  might  claim 
— riches  that  have  reduced  you  to  what  you  are,  scum 
of  the  earth!" 

"Indeed!"  cried  Eberhard  furiously.  "I  repeat  you 
are  a  miserable  liar,  an  impostor!" 

"Do  you  recognize  this  writing?"  said  Maurits, 
handing  him  another  paper. 

Eberhard  trembled,  and  staggered  to  a  chair,  as  he 
cast  a  glance  at  the  familiar  writing. 

"Damnation!"  muttered  he,  his  lips  quivering.  "It 
is  his  hand !" 

"Read!"  said  Maurits. 

The  count  unfolded  the  paper  slowly,  but  everything 
was  dark  before  his  eyes,  and  the  letters  danced  in 
disorder  around  each  other. 

'Read  for  me,"  said  he  in  weak  tones,  returning 
the  letter. 

"You  recognize  the  writing?" 

"Yes,  yes,  it  is  my  father's!      Read!" 

The  count  sank  back  into  the  red  velvet  easy-chair. 

Slowly  Maurits  read  the  letter  from  his  father,  found 
among  the  other  papers  in  the  sealed  envelope  he  had 
carried  to  Upsala. 

The  reader  will  recollect  that  in  this  letter  the  count 
spoke  of  his  elder  son's  misdeeds,  ingratitude  and 
self-love. 

Maurits  took  to  himself  the  pleasure  of  reading  the 
letter  over  several  times,  laying  heavy  stress  upon 
every  sentence  that  gave  him  opportunity. 


624  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

During  the  reading,  Eberhard  was  a  prey  to  the 
most  excruciating  tortures  of  mind.  The  inner  pain 
distorted  his  features,  and  the  sweat  of  anguish  broke 
out  upon  his  forehead.  The  miserable  wretch  quaked 
in  every  joint,  seeming  to  hear  his  father's  voice  men, 
acing  him  from  the  watery  grave  into  which  he  had 
been  hurled  by  the  hand  of  his  son. 

Conscience,  the  accuser  that  Eberhard  had  so  often 
hushed,  either  by  intoxicating  pleasures  into  which 
he  rushed,  or  by  the  dismal  teachings  of  fatalism  to 
which  he  had  resigned  himself,  this  conscience  was 
now  roused  from  its  death  slumber,  and,  like  a  bloody 
ghost,  the  memory  rose  from  the  grave  of  the  past  to 
burn  his  heart  with  fingers  of  fire.  Notwithstanding 
the  storm  that  raged  in  his  breast,  he  could  not  muster 
strength  to  bid  Maurits  cease  reading.  Dumb,  almost 
powerless,  he  listened  to  the  end. 

When  Maurits  paused,  Eberhard  sank  to  the  floor 
completely  unnerved. 

"Well,"  said  Maurits,  "am  I  an  impostor?" 

"No, — no! — you  have — spoken  the  truth!"  stammered 
the  count. 

"And  you,  my  brother!"  continued  Maurits,  as  he 
shook  him  violently  by  the  arm,  "what  have  you  done! 
You  first  crushed  my  heart  when  I  was  yet  a  child  by 
murdering  my  mother,  whom  you  indifferently  saw 
trampled  to  death  under  your  horse's  hoofs,  and  now, 
since  I  have  become  a  man,  by  deceit  you  have  robbed 
me  of  my  love.  Making  use  of  my  name,  you  have 
committed  the  most  abominable  crime.  You  have  as- 
sassinated her  innocence,  and  blighted  the  roses  of  her 
cheeks  with  the  poison  of  your  breath.  Curses  upon 
you!  scoundrel  that  you  are!" 

The  violent  storm  that    had  shaken    Eberhard's  soul 


THE    TWO    BROTHERS  625 

had  gradually  become  stilled  during  Maurits'  address. 
He  lifted  his  head  defiantly. 

"It  is  true,"  said  he,  "that  I  did  this,  yet  do  not 
blame  me,  but  fate.  The  blind  powers  that  sway  the 
world  have  thrown  you  in  my  way,  and  I  have  de- 
stroyed your  happiness  as  the  storm  crushes  the  flow- 
ers to  the  earth.  You  are  my  brother.  I  did  not  know 
it.  Still  another  proof  that  fate  plays  blindly  with  us 
mortals.  ' 

"Villain!"  cried  Maurits,  "do  the  powers  of  fate 
impel  us  to  such  shocking  crimes!  If  it  be  true  that 
there  is  no  God  who  watches  over  His  children,  there 
is  yet  an  inherent  law  that  shows  us  the  path  we 
should  pursue,  and  woe  to  him  who  disregards  the 
voice  of  that  law!" 

"But  if  fate  rules  the  world,"  returned  Eberhard, 
"if  there  is  no  God  whose  anger  we  need  fear,  why 
should  we  hesitate  to  follow  the  bent  of  our  own  in- 
clinations, even  though  it  lead  us  to  evil  deeds?" 

"Who  has  told  you  there  is  no  God  whose  wrath  we 
need  fear?  Woe  unto  you!  You  will  one  day  be  forced 
to  acknowledge  His  presence.  Even  though  He  leaves 
mankind  to  their  fate  on  earth,  there  is  a  life  hereafter 
whose  punishment  awaits  you  who  have  willfully 
broken  the  law  He  has  written  in  your  conscience. 
We  are  inclined  to  evil,  it  is  true,  but  we  have  also 
been  endowed  with  power  to  do  good." 

"I  am  wanting  that  power, "  said  the  count  dejected- 

iy- 

"Whether  or  not  you  have  the  power  to  withstand 
your  lustful  inclinations,  you  can  conjure  up  no  rea- 
sonable excuse  for  the  atrocious  crime  you  have  com- 
mitted. Though  one  be  a  fatalist,  it  does  not  neces- 
sarily follow  that  he  must  also  be  a  criminal." 


626  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  Eberhard  scornfully.  "Be 
seated,  and  I  will  relate  to  you  a  chapter  of  my  life 
history  which  will  convince  you  to  the  contrary." 

Maurits,  silent  and  moody,  took  a  seat. 

"Ten  or  twelve  years  ago,"  resumed  Eberhard,  "I 
undertook  a  journey  through  Southern  Europe.  During 
my  travels,  I  met  and  fell  in  love  with  a  young  Italian 
songstress,  by  name  Angela.  My  gold  lured  her,  and 
she  followed  me  as  my  mistress  to  Sweden,  where  she 
remained  a  few  short  months." 

The  count  ceased  for  a  few  seconds  and  drew  a  deep 
after-breath. 

"Proceed,"   said  Maurits. 

"Well,"  resumed  Eberhard,  rising,  and  with  folded 
arms  contemplating  his  brother,  "this  young  songstress 
was  rny  sister." 

"Your  sister!  "  shrieked  Maurits,  springing  from  his 
seat;  "have  you,  have  we  a  sister?  You  lie!" 

"Be  calm  and  hear  me.  You  can  readily  understand 
that  I  knew  nothing  of  our  real  relation  when  I  made 
her  my  mistress." 

Maurits  resumed  his  seat. 

Eberhard  began  now  to  recite  the  happenings  with 
which  the  reader  is  already  familiar.  He  pictured 
Crispin's  unfortunate  love  for  Mathilda  Stjernekrantz, 
Eberhard's  mother;  the  insatiable  longing  for  revenge 
with  which  he  was  seized  when  he  saw  himself  jilted 
by  her  whose  life  he  had  saved,  and  who  had  plighted 
him  her  faith;  the  means  employed  to  gratify  his  de- 
sire for  revenge,  and,  at  last,  the  devilish  intrigue 
whereby  he  succeeded  in  throwing  the  brother  and 
sister  into  the  embrace  of  each  other  that  he  might  cry 
in  triumph  to  the  spirit  of  the  departed  countess, 
'Mathilda,  see  your  children!" 


THE    TWO    BROTHERS  627 

During  this  long  and  terrible  narration,  Maurits  sat 
fixed  to  his  seat  with  horror.  He  felt  as  if  under  the 
influence  of  a  hideous  nightmare. 

When  Eberhard  had  concluded,  he  contemplated 
Maurits  a  long  time  in  silence,  with  a  demoniacal  ex- 
pression of  satisfaction. 

"How,  now!"  said  he,  "after  all  that  has  happened 
to  you  and  to  me,  are  you  not  convinced?  Do  you 
now  believe  in  the  power  of  man  to  avoid  crime? 

''And  this  unfortunate!"  cried   Maurits,  leaving  Eb- 
erhard's  question    unanswered,  "our    sister,    where    is 
she?" 
-"I  have  never  succeeded  in  finding  her." 

"Never?" 

"No.  I  went  to  Milan  but  she  had  abandoned  the 
stage,  and  followed  her  lover,  no  one  knew  whither. 
I  wandered  through  Europe  unable  to  find  a  trace  of 
either  Crispin  or  Angela." 

"O,  my  God!      This  is  terrible!" 

"God,"  exclaimed  Eberhard  with  bitter  contempt; 
"do  you  continue  to  call  upon  God?  Do  you  still  be- 
lieve that  there  is  a  being  who  rules  the  world? 

"Listen.  I  committed  that  shameful  crime,  and  who 
was  to  blame?  I?  No,  for  I  did  not  know  she  was 
my  sister.  Angela?  Certainly  not,  for  she  was  quite 
as  ignorant  as  1  that  the  blood  of  kinship  flowed  in 
our  veins.  Well,  if  there  was  then — I  will  not  say  a 
God  of  love,  but  only  an  intelligent  spirit  that  links 
together  the  chains  of  accidents,  should  this  spirit  not 
have  averted  this  unnatural  union?  If  He  is  not,  as 
the  agnostic  asserts,  an  idea  rather  than  a  reality, 
should  He  not  turn  mankind  from  the  evil  which  they 
themselves  ar-e  unable  to  see?  And  what  is  our  start- 
ing point?"  continued  Eberhard  with  wild  vehemence. 


628  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"A  crime,  a  faithlessness  chargeable  to  my  mother. 
This  faithlessness  has  brought  a  curse  upon  her  whole 
family,  upon  me,  upon  you  and  upon  Angela.  Re- 
venge has  spared  none.  It  has  dealt  alike  with  the 
innocent  and  the  guilty." 

Maurits  was  silent.  These  gloomy,  inconsolable 
teachings  that  Jacob  Kron  had  long  preached  to  him, 
crowded  themselves  again  with  fearful  energy  into 
his  mind.  For  an  instant,  he  forgot  his  own  sorrows, 
his  hate,  his  contempt  for  his  brother,  and  felt  him- 
self swayed  by  the  latter' s  devilish  influence. 

"You  are  silent,"  continued  Eberhard  triumphantly. 
"You  are  convinced,  and  how  could  it  be  otherwise? 
I  murdered  your  mother,  my  own  step-mother,  not 
knowing  her  to  be  such.  I  debauched  your  love,  and 
what  was  it  that  put  into  my  way  the  means  of  its 
accomplishment?  Chance!  Fate  that  formed  us  so 
alike,  even  to  the  voice,  that  she  mistook  me  for  you." 

"Ha!"  burst  forth  Maurits,  again  springing  sud- 
denly to  his  feet,  "you  prick  afresh  the  bleeding 
wound  in  my  breast.  This  last  crime  you  cannot 
charge  to  accident,  for  you  went  there  and  deceived 
her  in  cold  blood,  calmly  premeditated." 

"No,"  said     Eberhard,    "there    was  no  deliberation. 
I  simply  followed  the  path  pointed  out  to  me  by  acci 
dent.  This  letter  came  to  me  immediately  after  my  call 
upon  the  powers  of  fate  to  give  me  a  means  of  crush- 
ing Isabella  whom  I    loved,  and  you    whom  I  hated!" 

He  handed  Maurits  the  document  whereby  Jacob 
Kron  had  informed  him  of  the  proposed  meeting  be- 
ween  Maurits  and  Isabella. 

"Who  wrote  this  letter!"  exclaimed  Maurits,  when 
he  had  completed  its  reading. 

'That  is  just  what  I  would  know  from   you.      For  I 


THE  TWO  BROTHERS  629 

am  entirely  ignorant  on  the  subject.  It  is  dirty 
enough  and  looks  as  if  it  might  have  come  from  a 
beggar." 

A  suspicion  flashed  like  lightning  through  Maurits' 
brain. 

"Ah!"  he  ejaculated  violently,  "I  believe  I  know 
its  origin.  Yet  another  deed  of  vengeance.  Two  in- 
nocent sacrifices  for  the  crime  of  another." 

"Well,  then,   who  wrote  it?" 

"No  matter  who  wrote  it,"  said  Maurits,  "it  is  enough 
for  you  that  it  has  rendered  you  the  desired  service. 
It  was  a  base,  a  horrible  act.  You  have  in  this 
crushed  two  guiltless  hearts  at  one  blow." 

"Can  the  storm  help  it  that  the  blossom  is  scattered 
to  the  winds?  Can  the  vulture  resist  his  nature  to  pur- 
sue and  devour  his  prey?" 

"Hush!"  exclaimed  Maurits,  in  a  voice  so  full  of 
menace  that  Eberhard  ceased  at  once,  "do  not  seek 
further  to  beguile  me  with  such  wretched  excuses; 
they  can  delude  me  no  longer.  If  there  is  no  provi- 
dence, there  is,  nevertheless,  a  God  that  will  punish 
and  reward." 

Eberhard  trembled. 

"Yes,"  continued  Maurits,  "there  is  a  God  who  has 
written  His  law;  who  has  given  us  His  word  as  a 
guide  in  our  hours  of  darkness.  I  will  not  renounce 
Him  even  though  the  appalling  conviction  is  forced 
upon  me  that  He  utterly  abandons  His  children.  The 
offenses  we  commit  because  of  weakness  or  igno- 
rance, God  will  not  record  against  us;  but  the  crimes 
we  perpetrate  with  calm  deliberation,  smothering  the 

• 

conscience,  these  he  will  punish  with  eternal  pangs. 
Evil  goes  conquering  through  the  world,  I  do  not 
deny;  I  cannot  deny  it  when  I  contemplate  the  chain 


630  THE    PLAY    OF    KATE 

of  circumstances  that  has  been  wound  around  my  life. 

God  does  not  love  us,  and  how  could  He  love  mankind, 

the  most  wretched  of   all  the  beings    of  His  creation? 

He  has  put  us    here    in    the  world    and    said:      'Live. 

There  is  a  law  that    tells  you    how    to    live.      Woe  to 

you  if  you  do  not  obey  it!'  That  is  all.      More  He  has 

not  done  for  us.      Fate  governs  the  rest.      Such  is  the 

fatalism    which  I  recognize.      Struggling  between  this 

belief  and  a  better,  brighter    and    more  comforting,  I 

have  dragged  my    whole  life    through.      I    have    never 

said:      'There  is  no  God,'   but  I  have  said:      'There  is 

no  providence.'     There  is  no  providence,     for  if  there 

were,  the  good  would  not  always    succumb  to  the  evil 

on  earth;  but  there  is  a  God,    for    if    there  were    not, 

vice,  victorious  in  this  life,  would  escape  punishment 

and  the  good  go    unrewarded.      Such    is    my  fatalism. 

Its  teachings  are    gloomy,  I    admit,  but    they  do    not 

put  to  naught  either    the  laws    of  custom    or  religion. 

Your  belief,  on  the  other    hand,  what    is  it?     You  say 

everything  ends  with  this    life;    that    there  is    no  one 

to  call  us  to  account  for  our  actions;  virtue  is  only  an 

illusion,  and  fools    they    are    who  do    not  follow  their 

inclinations    and    passions.      That    is  not    fatalism,  it 

is  atheism.      Unhappy  man!      In  this  belief    you  have 

allowed  yourself  to  slumber;  with  it  you  have  deluded 

yourself,  and  silenced  every    cry  of    the  voice  within. 

Upon    this    for    a    foundation,     you     have   erected     a 

structure  of  sophisms    that    will    collapse    some    day, 

when   reflection  has  taught  you  to    see  the    instability 

of  the  groundwork.      And  then,    woe  to  you!     Terrible 

will  be    your    anguish    and    despair.     Tears  of    blood 

will  scald  your  heart." 

"Do  you  believe  so?"  said  Eberhard  in  hollow  tones. 

"Yes,  I  believe  it,  and  weigh  well  my  warning:      At 


THE    TWO    BROTHERS  63! 

your  death  bed,  no  angels  of  peace  will  hold  watch. 
Writhing  in  agony,  burning  with  suffering,  your  heart 
will  burst,  and  bloody  ghosts  will  torture  your  slaking 
eyes,  and  these  ghosts  are  your  recollections." 

Eberhard  had  sunk  down  upon  a  chair,  his  face 
hidden  in  his  hands  Again  he  was  a  prey  to  the 
most  terrible  torments  of  thought;  again  he  expe- 
rienced the  scourge  of  thy  furies. 

"If  this  be  true,"  the  thought  forced  itself  upon 
him,  "if  there  be  a  God!1' 

Maurits  saw  that  he  had  hit  his  brother  keenly. 
He  saw  his  distress,  and  his  mangled  heart  enjoyed 
for  the  first  time  the  satisfaction  of  revenge. 

Mastering  his  feelings,  Eberhard  again  lifted  his 
head,  and  addressed  Maurits  coldly:  "Maurits  Stjerne. 
krantz,  assume  the  name  that  by  right  belongs  to  you. 
That  portion  of  the  estate  allowed  you  by  law,  shall 
be  turned  over  to  you  without  recourse  to  the  courts. 
I  shall  have  an  abundance  even  then  surely,  if  I  take 
into  consideration  the  dower  that  comes  with  Isabella.-" 

"And  you  believe  she  will  be  yours?"  said  Maurits, 
who  at  these  words  felt  all  his  hate  rush  back  upon 
him  with  redoubled  vigor. 

'Now  she  has  no  alternative." 

"You  err.     There  is  yet  an  avenue  of  escape." 

"What?" 

"Death." 

"Bah!   she  will  not  kill  herself." 

"I  do  not  know  what  she  may  do,  but  if  I  saw  her 
about  to  plunge  a  dagger  into  her  breast,  I  would  not 
hinder  her. " 

"But  if  she  should  prefer  to  be  my  wife,"  continued 
Eberhard,  "will  you  put  obstacles  in  the  way?" 

"No,  let  her  choose  whichever  she  will:  You  or 
death." 


THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Good!  And  now  tell  me  what  you  will  do  with  regard 
to  your  name  and  property.  The  estate  left  by  our 
father,  besides  the  fief,  will  reach  the  sum  of  half  a 
million.  According  to  the  law,  half  of  this  belongs 
to  you.  I  cannot  dispute  it.  If  you  will  have  any  of 
my  property,  take  what  you  will  except  Odensvik, 
which  is  the  fief  proper.  The  rest  you  shall  have  in 
money  and  securities." 

"Your  name  I  will  never  bear,"  interrupted  the 
young  man,  with  manifest  disgust.  "As  Maurits 
Sterner,  I  have  won  position  and  renown,  and  so  I 
will  be  called  while  I  live.  So  my  mother  was  called, 
but  her  murderer  is  named  Stjernekrantz. " 

"As  you  please,"  returned  the  count  coldly;  "and 
what  is  your  resolve  concerning  the  inheritance?" 

"In  a  few  weeks  I  shall  enter  upon  a  journey.  I  wish 
you  to  provide  the  necessary  funds  therefor." 

"You  shall  have  as  much  as  you  desire." 

"Very  well.  The  remainder  may  be  left  in  your 
keeping  until  my  return." 

"As  you  will,  and  if  you  are  likely  to  require  money 
during  your  travels,  I  will  give  you  letters  of  credit 
on  foreign  houses." 

"We  will  discuss  this  at  another  time.  Now,  fare- 
well!" 

"If  you  wish  to  make  your  home,  for  the  time  you 
may  be  hereabout,  at  Odensvik,  the  upper  rooms  are 
at  your  disposal." 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Maurits  with  a  shudder,  "I 
will  retain  my  gable  room  at  the  parsonage." 

The  two  brothers  separated  after  exchanging  frown- 
ing glances  with  each  other. 

"He  will  not  oppose  my  marriage  with  Isabella,"  said 
Eberhard  to  himself  when  Maurits  had  gone.  "Good! 


THE    T\\O    BROTHERS  633 

The  money  I  must  give  him  thus  comes  back  to  me 
with  her,  and,  besides,  I  am  rich  enough  without  it, 
I  am  sure,  though  I  do  not  possess  the  most  perfect 
knowledge  about  my  affairs." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    FATALISTS 

It  was  again  evening.  Leaning  against  the  trunk 
of  a  pine  near  the  stone  pile  marking  the  grave  of 
the  murdered  man,  stood  Maurits,  upon  the  same  spot 
where  but  a  few  days  before  he  had  enjoyed  his  short 
and  intoxicating  but  now  annihilated,  love's  dream. 
How  different  now  from  then.  Then  his  breast  was 
rilled  with  happy  thoughts;  his  heart  pulsated  with 
blessedness  and  hope,  and  beautiful  pictures  of  the 
future  flitted  before  his  eyes.  He  had  found  his  pre- 
destined bride,  the  mistress  of  his  boyhood  dreams, 
and  with  delight  beyond  measure,  he  had  pressed  her 
to  his  breast.  And  now,  what  was  it?  A  shattered 
illusion,  a  short  spring  dream  hunted  away  by  the 
merciless  power  of  fate. 

The  conversation  with  Eberhard,and  Angela's  horri- 
fying history,  had  given  the  final  blow  to  Maurits'  be- 
lief in  a  providence.  That  there  was  a  God,  he  could 
not  doubt,  though  at  the  first  outbreak  of  his  agony, 
he  felt  himself  so  inclined.  But  God  was  no  more  to 
him  what  he  had  been.  No  longer  his  mother's  God. 
He  was  only  a  judge,  a  stern,  unrelenting  ruler  who 
in  his  anger  turned  away  from  the  world  allowing  evil 
to  ravage  unrestrained.  Few  had  suffered  so  much  as 
Maurits.  Few  had  seen  their  dreams,  their  hopes  so 
cruelly  mocked  as  he.  Every  time  a  rose  of  gladness 
had  peeped  forth  upon  his  pathway,  a  storm  had  at 

031 


THE    FATALISTS  635 

once  crushed  it  out  of  existence.  He  had  loved  his 
mother  with  a  filial  love,  and  the  murdered  blind  wo- 
man had  bled  to  death  in  his  arms;  he  had  loved 
Helena  with  a  brotherly  tenderness,  and  he  had  seen 
her  innocence  destroyed  by  the  seducer's  poisonous 
words;  he  had  loved  Isabella  with  all  the  warmth  of 
a  first  love,  and  this  rose,  too,  the  most  beautiful,  had 
faded  on  the  breast  of  her  villainous  betrayer;  he  had 
seen  himself  deceived  as  a  son,  as  a  brother,  as  a 
lover,  there  was  nothing  more  to  suffer.  He  could 
not  be  wounded  deeper. 

"What  is  life?"  said  he  to  himself,  staring  de- 
spondently at  the  faintly  lighted  road  before  him:  'a 
play  of  the  blind  powers  of  fate  which  God  in  his 
anger  has  let  loose  upon  mankind;  a  dark  riddle  that 
only  death  can  solve.  And  hope,  faith,  love  and  hap- 
piness, what  are  they?  Illusions  only  that  sport  with 
us  a  minute  like  the  Fata  Morgana  in  the  deserts  of 
Africa,  then  leave  us  to  our  destruction.  It  is  a  mel- 
ancholy fact,  but  a  fact,  nevertheless,  that  whichever 
way  we  look,  we  see  vice  exalted,  virtue  trampled  un- 
der foot,  evil  thriving  and  the  beautiful  withering 
away  like  the  tender  shoot  choked  by  weeds.  I  have 
battled  through  many  storms,  faithful  to  the  memory 
that  like  a  star  has  lighted  my  pathway,  the  memory 
of  my  mother,  but  the  power  has  now  deserted  me. 
May  you  forgive  me,  blessed  spirit-  You  said,  'Do 
not  hate— love;  these  are  the  keys  to  life's  riddle,  the 
well-spring  of  the  sweetest  joys  inviting  you  to  moisten 
your  parched  lips.  Love,  therefore,  my  son.'  Well, 
mother,  I  have  loved,  and  have  been  cruelly  deceived. 
Now  I  hate,  for  I  cannot  do  otherwise— no,  I  cannot 
do  otherwise,"  continued  the  young  man  in  despair. 
"If  it  is  a  crime,  forgive  me,  stern  Ruler  of  the  uni- 


636  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

verse.  I  will  not  seek  revenge.  No,  for  there  is  an 
arbiter.  But  the  hate,  the  unconquerable  hate  that 
overwhelms  me,  I  cannot  control.  Jacob  Kron's  daugh- 
ter made  George  Ehrenstam's  concubine;  Isabella 
debauched  by  Eberhard  Stjernekrantz  —  and  they  dare 
to  say  there  is  a  God  that  loves  his  creatures  and 
prccects  the  innocent!  And  Angela,  my  sister!  ha! 
ha!  I  have  also  had  a  sister,  but  her  shoulder  was 
marked  with  a  rose  entwined  by  a  serpent,  symbols 
of  the  Frenchman's  love  and  meditated  revenge.  A 
rose  entwined  by  a  serpent!  Is  not  that  also  a  symbol 
of  life?  Around  the  most  glorious  roses,  the  serpent 
of  hate  is  entwined,  and  the  dew  that  falls  upon  their 
leaves  is  poison.  But  hush!  Some  one  approaches." 

Maurits  drew  himself  back  into  the  shadow  of  the 
tree  against  which  he  was  leaning.  A  solitary  woman 
neared  the  place.  The  rays  of  the  moon  made  dis- 
cernable  the  features  of  Isabella  Ehrenstam.  She 
staggered  to  the  foot  of  the  stone  heap  where  she 
seated  herself  upon  one  of  the  stones  at  its  base. 
The  young  woman's  dark  hair  was  unbound,  and  flut- 
tered unrestrained  in  the  wind;  her  eyes,  in  which  de- 
spair approaching  insanity  was  clearly  readable,  stared 
sadly  around  the  lonesome  space.  Finally  she  clasped 
her  hands  together  and  fell  to  her  knees  upon  the 
ground. 

"Father  in  heaven,"  said- she,  "you  have  punished 
me  severely,  but  I  make  bold,  notwithstanding,  to 
appeal  to  your  mercy.  I  dare  hope  that  you  will  not 
spurn  my  spirit  when  it  knocks  for  admittance  at  the 
gate  of  heaven,  though  it  wishes  to  come  before  you 
have  called  it.  Here  on  this  spot  where  I  dreamed 
love's  transient  dream,  hear  me,  OGod!  Here  I  will 
bow  myself  every  evening  for  the  few  days  that  now 


THE    FATALISTS  637 

remain  to  me  on  earth,  beseeching  you  to  forgive    me 
that  I  no  longer  have  the  courage  to  live." 

Maurits  heard  no  more,  for  Isabella's  voice  sank  to 
a  whisper,  but  she  prayed  in  silence,  prayed  long  and 
fervently.  At  length  she  rose  and  departed  slowly, 
taking  the  way  homeward. 

"She  intends  to  kill  herself,"  thought  Maurits.  "I 
suspected  as  much.  The  grave  is  more  inviting  than 
Eberhard's  embrace.  {  do  not  wonder  at  it." 

A  new  pedestrian  entered  upon  the  scene.  It  was 
Jacob  Kron.  He  also  approached  the  stone  heap, 
seated  himself  at  its  base  and  sank  into  deep  thought. 
Maurits  was  about  to  step  forth  and  address  him 
when  a  third  person  was  seen  approaching  from  a 
direction  opposite  to  that  in  which  Jacob  had  come. 
Maurits  drew  himself  back  into  concealment  again. 
This  third  person  was  Holmer.  He  had  come  from 
a  meeting  at  one  of  the  neighbors  where  he  had  been 
met  by  all  with  unkindness  and  neglect,  with  scorn 
and  contempt;  for  he  was  hated  by  all  because  of  his 
so-called  "Madhouse  project,"  the  school  for  peasant 
children.  This  had  depressed  him.  He  strode  along 
gazing  despondently  at  the  ground.  Chancing  to  look 
up  as  he  neared  the  place  where  the  beggar  sat,  his 
glance  fell  upon  the  lonesome  figure.  Jacob  had  not 
observed  the  intruder,  and  continued  his  meditations. 
Holmer  contemplated  him  with  surprise.  At  length 
he  approached  him,  and  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoul- 
der. Jacob  looked  up. 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  Holmer.  "Do  you  intend  to 
spend  the  night  in  this  dismal  place?" 

"Who  I  am,"  answered  the  beggar,  "can  be  of  lit- 
tle consequence  to  you.  Enough  that  I  am  one  of  the 
many  unfortunates." 


638  THE     PLAY    OF    FATE 

"And  why  unfortunate?" 

Holrner's  voice  was  so  gentle,  so  full  of  love,  that 
Jacob  felt  himself  irresistibly  moved. 

"Why?"  answered  he;  "because  fate  has  pursued 
me,  because  mankind  hates  me." 

"And  why  are  you  hated  by  mankind?" 

"For  my  crimes,"  said  the  beggar  moodily. 

"Strange!"  said  Holmer,  as  if  to  himself,  "and  they 
hate  me  for  my  virtues." 

The  beggar  laughed  wildly. 

"Then  you  are  hated  more  than  I,"  said  he.  "Man- 
kind hates  crime,  but  the  refined  virtues  they  hate 
even  worse." 

"What  do  they  love,  then?"   Holmer  burst  out. 

"Themselves!" 

"And  what  will  they  tolerate,  then?" 

"Depravity." 

"I  begin  to  believe  that  he  is  right,"  muttered  Hol- 
mer, resuming  his  way.  "Who  can  this  unfortunate 
be?" 

Jacob  had  risen,  and  departed  at  the  same  time  with 
Holmer,  but  in  the  opposite  direction. 

Maurits  was  again  alone. 

"People  come  here  to  impart  knowledge  to  me," 
said  the  young  man  to  himself.  "One  is  hated  for 
his  crimes,  the  other  for  his  virtues.  Ha!  ha!  How 
strange! 

"Shall  I  believe  that  disheartened  man's  utterances, 
that  depravity  alone  is  tolerated?  By  the  ordinary 
man,  yes.  There  are  exceptions,  it  is  true,  but  they 
are  few." 

The  sound  of  an  approaching  carriage  interrupted 
Maurits'  soliloquy. 

In  an    open  landau,  drawn  by  three  snorting  steeds, 


THE    FATALISTS  639 

George  Ehrenstam  and  his  two  friends  dashed  past. 
They  were  returning  from  a  bachelors'  dinner,  given 
at  one  of  the  neighboring  estates,  and,  filled  with  wine, 
they  were  laughing  and  jesting  gayly. 

Swiftly  the  carriage  rolled  past  the  spot  where 
Maurits  stocd. 

"Yes,"  said  Maurits,  answering  his  own  thoughts, 
"he  was  right.  It  is  vice  that  is  flattered,  fawned  upcn 
and  tolerated;  but  vices  of  the  intelligent  \vhen  ihey 
are  smoothed  over  with  gold;  for  the  poor  are  scorned 
for  their  vices  as  much  as  they  are  despised  for  their 
crimes.  These  are  the  beings  who,  with  such  assur- 
ance, boast  of  their  virtues;  of  their  exalted  opinions; 
of  their  noble  motives.  Curses  upon  the  world!  I 
hate  it!  But  my  adversities  shall  not  deprive  me  of 
courage.  I  will  not  whine.  Better  are  they  who  do 
battle  with  their  ill  fortune.  So  be  it.  I  will  bid 
my  fate  defiance.  There  are  yet  seme  things  that  are 
noble,  glorious,  beautiful  on  the  earth,  and  they  are  the 
only  things,  art  and  knowledge.  They  shall  sustain 
me.  The  things  of  the  world  offer  nothing  but  illu- 
sions, an  intoxication  that  leaves  after  it  a  bitter  feel- 
ing, a  loathsome  taste.  I  have  experienced  this  in 
ebriation,  and  now,  —  art  contains  the  only  truth,  for 
its  beauty  is  imperishable.  The  only  mercy  God  has 
shown  man  is  that  he  has  opened  the  world  of  poetry 
to  him  whose  happiness  in  earthly  affairs  he  has 
allowed  fate  to  crush. 

"There  is  yet  another  means  whereby  man  seeks  to 
solace  himself  for  his  great  moral  sufferings.  This 
is  the  coarse,  sensual,  noisy,  deafening  pleasure;  the 
wild  intoxication  of  the  soul-murdering  orgies.  They 
seek  forgetfulness,  and  they  find  it  for  a  minute  in 
the  bowl's  lethean  stream,  or  in  the  embrace  of  the 


640  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

courtesan.  I  despise  this  method.  It  is  not  mine, 
for  it  is  unseemly,  and  that  which  will  never  die  out 
of  me  is  a  passion  for  the  seemly,  the  beautiful. 

'There  is  nothing  more  of  the  beautiful  on  earth  for 
me  to  worship.  I  will  then  seek  it  in  the  world  that 
lies  on  the  borders  of  eternity.  There  is  the  world 
of  art,  the  world  of  knowledge.  I  will  write  and  sing. 
I  will  not  describe  mankind  as  they  are,  lor  I  loathe 
them  as  \,  find  them,  but  I  will  idealize  them.  I  will 
not  sketch  from  nature,  but  I  will  develop  ideas, 
give  them  form  and  figure,  flesh  and  blood.  This  is 
the  beautiful  of  art,  the  true  passion.  The  modern 
world  is  beginning  to  reject  it,  and  to  dip  the  wings 
of  the  genius  of  art  into  the  mire  of  reality,  to  throw 
to  the  masses,  to  the  literary  rabble  who  cannot  com- 
prehend the  ideal.  Certain  benefits  may  be  derived 
from  it,  but  beautiful  it  is  not. 

lrNo.  For  the  real,  if  it  is  not  ennobled  by  art,  if 
it  has  not  passed  through  its  purgatory,  cannot  possi- 
bly be  interesting,  and  how  can  it,  when  there  is  no 
expiatory  principle  pervading  it." 

"Fate  rules  blindly.  Well,  then,  I  will  believe  in 
fate's  power  in  the  present,  and  God's  judgment  in 
eternity.  If  I  doubted  the  former  I  were  blind,  and  if 
I  doubted  the  latter,  I  should  be  as  Eberhard,  a  de- 
testable, a  fiendish  criminal." 

During  this  monologue,  which  more  than  anything 
else  showed  the  position  occupied  by  him  at  present 
in  relation  to  religious  matters,  Maurits  had  made  his 
way  slowly  from  the  scene  of  the  evening's  happen- 
ings, and  in  a  short  time  arrived  at  the  parsonage. 

We  repeat,  we  are  not  writing  a  defense  of  fatal- 
ism, but  we  entertain  the  deepest  compassion  for  Jacob 
Kron,  and  forgive  Maurits, 


THE    FATALISTS  641 

With  Eberhard,  the  third  type  of  fatalist,  not 
through  slow  repining  and  inexorable  power  of  events 
forced  into  conviction,  but  only  because  of  the  neces- 
sity for  a  refuge  from  regret  that  otherwise  would 
destroy  him,  we  are  not  disposed  to  sympathize,  or 
to  overlook  his  transgressions. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   PREPARATIONS 

A  week  had  passed.  Maurits  had  not  seen  Isabella 
again.  It  was  she,  nevertheless,  who  was  holding  him 
in  the  neighborhood.  He  wished  to  see,  before  set- 
ting out  on  his  journey,  the  unfolding  of  her  fate. 
He  still  loved  her  as  warmly,  as  passionately  as  ever, 
and  he  felt  that  he  had  received  an  incurable  wound. 
He  loved  her,  we  say,  and  he  would  have  torn  the 
heart  from  his  breast,  if  thereby  he  could  have  re- 
stored her  peace  of  mind  and  quiet.  He  had  never 
censured  her,  had  never  been  angry  with  her,  and 
how  could  he?  If  she  had  fallen,  it  was  because  of 
her  love  for  him  in  whose  embrace  she  believed  herself 
to  be  when  in  that  of  the  debaucher,  Eberhard.  It 
was  not  a  crime,  Maurits  did  not  so  regard  it.  It  was 
a  misfortune  that  had  torn  them  asunder.  Spiritually, 
Isabella  was  quite  as  pure  and  quite  as  worthy  of  his 
love  as  before.  It  was  the  material  in  love  only,  the 
actual  possession  that  had  become  impossible.  Yes, 
for  the  lilies  in  her  crown  of  purity  had  been  blighted 
without  her  volition,  had  been  blown  away  by  the 
poisonous  winds  of  passion,  revenge  and  jealousy. 
They  had  fallen  at  the  touch  of  the  creature  that 
chance  had  made  his  brother.  Without  her  consent? 
Yes,  for  Maurits  saw  clearly  that  the  distress  caused 
by  the  pretended  lover's  cruel  words,  her  half  insensible 
condition  and  the  abnormally  excited  passions  that 

643 


THE    PREPARATIONS  643 

made  her  blood  boil,  put  the  means  into  Eberhard's 
hands  of  accomplishing  his  end  almost  without  her 
consciousness.  It  was  only  the  body  that  was  tar- 
nished, her  spirit  had  lost  none  of  its  grandeur. 

Upon  the  wretch  who,  assuming  his  name,  had 
robbed  her  of  what  the  world  calls  virtue,  upon  him 
alone  the  curse  rested. 

Yes,  Maurits  admired  Isabella  now  much  more  than 
before  her  fall.  He  thought  of  the  nobleness  of  soul 
that  gave  her  courage  to  proclaim  her  dishonor  with- 
out hesitation.  He  remembered  that  she  did  not  for 
an  instant  raise  the  question  of  the  possibility  of  a 
union  with  him  whom  she  loved,  but  only  begged  for- 
giveness for  a  fault. 

He  knew,  understood  all  this,  yet — yet  he  regarded 
their  marriage,  her  possession  now  impossible,  for  she 
had  belonged  to  his  brother.  And,  nevertheless,  when 
he  fancied  her  his  for  life,  his  wife,  the  fires  of  jeal- 
ousy were  instantly  rekindled  in  his  bosom. 

"No,  it  cannot  be!"  cried  he  in  wild  despair.  "If 
she  is  the  proud,  noble  woman  of  whom  I  have  dreamed, 
she  will  take  her  own  life  rather  than  bury  herself  for 
the  rest  of  her  days  in'his  embrace.  She  will  be  true 
to  her  first  love — no  pledge  of  which  she  has  yet 
broken — and,  liberated  from"  her  polluted  mortal  body, 
her  pure  soul  will  seek  God,  and — God  is  just.  He  will 
not  cast  her  out.  I  have  thought  much,  but  I  see  no 
other  choice  than  either  Eberhard's  hand,  or — the 
grave.  Which  will  she  choose?  Will  she  have 
strength  to  prefer  the  latter?  In  her  stead  I  should 
do  so.  Let  us  consider  which  is  the  greater  sin.  To 
marry  a  man  one  abhors;  to  swear  before  God  to  love 
and  cherish  a  person  whom  one  loathes  and  hates 
to  the  utmost,  or  by  suicide  free  one's  self  from  the 


644  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

necessity.  In  the  first,  the  soul  is  sacrificed  to  pre- 
serve the  body,  in  the  latter,  the  body  is  destroyed  to 
save  the  soul.  But  God  has  forbidden  self-murder.  Yes, 
but  he  has  also  forbidden  perjury.  Well,  you  rigid 
moralists  who  grade  to  a  hair's  breadth  the  monstrous 
or  insignificant  sinfulness  of  this  or  that  act,  I  hurl 
the  question  at  you.  What  do  you  answer? 

"I  cannot  rescue  her,  but  so  much  I  know,  if  a  just 
God  allows  accidents  to  place  one  of  his  creatures  in 
the  position  in  which  Isabella  now  is — no  alternative 
but  to  become  the  wife  of  him  whom  she  despises,  or 
die — he  cannot  condemn  her,  if  in  her  despair  she 
turns  to  the  most  sinful  way  out  of  her  trouble. 

"May  she  be  faithful  to  me,  therefore;  may  she  slay 
herself!  The  perishable  house  of  clay  will  then  no 
longer  separate  us.  As  death's  bride,  she  will  become 
the  bride  of  my  thoughts,  the  pure  and  holy  bride  of 
my  memory.  As  Eberhard's  wife,  even  her  soul  would 
lose  for  me  its  beauty,  its  luster." 

The  day  after  his  conversation  with  Baron  Ehren- 
stam,  Maurits  received  a  letter  from  him  as  follows: 

"Sir:  I  expect  you  to-morrow  afternoon,  when  the 
subject  of  our  conversation  of  yesterday  will  be  dis- 
cussed further.  ALFRED  EHRENSTAM." 

To  this  Maurits  returned  answer  by  writing: 

"Sir  Baron:  I  have  abandoned  my  design  to  pre- 
vent the  marriage  of  your  daughter  to  Count  Stjerne- 
krantz.  You  are  at  liberty  to  do  as  you  wish,  and  I 
will  mix  myself  no  further  in  your  affairs.  You  may 
also  count  upon  my  silence.  MAURITS  STERNER." 


THE    PREPARATIONS  645 

Baron  Ehrenstam  was  both  glad  and  surprised  at 
this  voluntary  consent,  the  motive  for  which  he  sought 
vainly  to  discover.  However,  his  hands  were  now 
free,  and,  as  may  be  supposed,  he  availed  himself 
thereof. 

When  the  eight  days  had  gone  by,  Isabella  was 
summoned  to  her  father's  room.  During  these  days, 
the  young  woman  had  undergone  an  incredible  changer 
She  was  not  less  beautiful  than  before,  but  her  beauty 
bore  an  expression  of  deep  melancholy. 

Since  the  lull  after  the  first  storm,  Isabella  had 
raved  no  more,  but,  arrived  at  a  determination,  had 
become  calmly  and  patiently  resigned  to  her  fate. 

The  rosy  tints  of  life  had,  however,  fled  from  her 
cheeks;  the  fire  had  gone  from  her  eyes,  their  glow 
had  been  quenched  by  tears,  for  these  springs  of  faith 
were  the  only  things  not  wholly  dried  up. 

Isabella  entered  her  father's  room,  and  silently  took 
the  seat  indicated  by  him. 

"Well,"  began  the  baron  regarding  her  sharply,  "the 
respite  is  at  an  end.  Have  you  arrived  at  a  conclu- 
sion? " 

"Yes,  father." 

"And  what  is  it?" 

"I  will  obey  you,  father." 

"And  become  Eberhard's  wife!"  exclaimed  the  baron 
surprised,  for  he  had  prepared  himself  to  meet  with 
serious  opposition. 

"Yes,— if  I  live." 

These  last  words  were  the  expression  of  her 
thoughts  more  than  of  her  lips,  for  their  sound  did  not 
reach  the  baron's  ears. 

"Wisely  decided,  my  dear  Isabella, :)  resumed  her 
father  with  manifest  satisfaction.  "I  am  pleased  that 


646  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

you  have  allowed    your  good    sense  to    prevail  in  this 
matter.      And  when  shall  the  wedding  take  place?" 

"It  is  of  no  consequence  to  me.  Whenever  you 
please." 

"Well,  then,  we  will  appoint  your  birthday,  at  the 
close  of  next  week.  Will  that  suit  you?" 

"Yes,  .but  I  interpose  just  one  condition." 

"And  it  is  what?" 

"That  I  may  be  spared  a  meeting  with  my  proposed 
husband  until  that  day. >: 

"You  are  ridiculous,  but  we  must  yield  something 
to  you.  Eberhard  shall  be  informed  of  your  wish,  and 
I  am  sure  he  will  offer  no  objection." 

"Thank  you,  father." 

The  young  woman  rose  to  go. 

"Isabella!"  called  the  baron,  in  a  somewhat  milder 
tone  than  usual. 

She  approached  him  again,  whereupon  he  opened 
his  arms  and  embraced  her,  also  pressed  a  kiss  upon 
her  deathly  white  forehead. 

Isabella  betrayed  no  emotion.  Cold,  white  as  a  mar- 
ble statue,  she  received  her  father's  embrace.  It  was 
as  if  death  himself  had  wound  her  in  his  arms.  A 
tremor  as  if  from  ague  passed  through  her  frame,  but 
her  exterior  was  cold  and  calm. 

"Wait,   Isabella,  I  have  something  for  you." 

He  went  to  his  chiffonier  and  took  therefrom  a  set 
of  sparkling  jewels. 

"See  here,"  continued  he,  "my  first  wife"'  (the  baron's 
voice  trembled  perceptibly)  "wore  these  jewels  on  her 
wedding  day.  A  more  beautiful  ornament  it  would 
be  difficult  to  find.  I  have  preserved  it  for  my  dutiful 
daughter." 

And  the    sacrifice    was     bedecked,    the    baron    with 


THE    PREPARATIONS  647 

fatherly  hands  fastening  the  costly  ornament  in  Isa- 
bella's dark  locks. 

"You  are  to  wear  this  on  your  wedding  day,"  re- 
sumed the  baron,  "but  go  now  and  present  yourself  to 
your  mother."  « 

Isabella  kissed  her  father's  hand  and  departed. 

"This  paleness  is  not  unbecoming  to  her, "  muttered 
the  baron  between  his  teeth.  "She  will  be  the  most 
beautiful  bride  in  Vermland,  and  the  wealthiest  as 
well.  If  only  that  confounded  youngster  will  keep 
that  accursed  story  to  himself." 

"Isabella,"  said  Baroness  Ehrenstam,  the  day  before 
that  appointed  for  the  wedding  feast,  which,  as  we  are 
aware,  was  set  for  her  birthday,  "Isabella,  we  have  in- 
vited a  number  of  friends  to  be  present  with  us  to- 
morrow. How  do  you  propose  to  attire  yourself?" 

"In  white  silk  with  a  garland  of  white  roses  on  my 
head." 

"But  ought  you  not  to  wear  some  jewelry?" 

"No,  mother,  I  prefer  to  have  nothing  more  than 
this  gold  chain  around  my  neck." 

"As  you  will,  but  may  we  not  hope  that  you  will 
entertain  our  guests  later  in  the  evening  with  your 
unusual  talent  as  a  danseuse?  I  thought  at  first  of  ar- 
ranging a  few  tableaux,  but  I  fear  it  will  be  too  much 
trouble.  You  are  a  perfect  sylph,  my  little  Isabella, 
and  no  one  can  see  you  and  not  admire  you." 

"You  wish  me  to  dance,  then,"  said  the  girl  with  a 
peculiar  smile. 

"Yes,  I  see  no  harm  in  displaying  such  a  charming 
talent,  when  confined  to  a  limited  circle  of  friends. 
If  you  concur  in  my  plans,  here  they  are:  The  guests 
are  to  assemble  in  the  large  salon  which,  together  with 


64''  'I' HE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

the  other  state  rooms,  is  to  be  open  to  them.  Here 
they  are  to  sip  their  tea  and  drink  the  health  of  the 
coming  bride  and  groom.  In  the  green  hall  to  the 
left,  I  will  have  arranged  a  red  silk  drapery  which 
shall  serve  as  a  curtain.  When  it  has  become  dark, 
and  the  candles  are  lighted,  we  will  retire  to  this  hall 
and  take  our  seats  here.  The  orchestra  will  then 
strike  up,  the  drapery  be  drawn  aside,  and  you  will 
make  your  appearance  on  the  scene,  clad  in  an  appro- 
priate costume  which  I  have  already  designed.  This 
would  be  quite  the  thing,  it  seems  to  me.  What  do 
you  say?" 

"The  project  is  a  novel  one,"  said  Isabella,  with  a 
smile  of  bitterness  her  mother  was  far  from  suspect- 
ing. "I  consent,  nevertheless.  I  will  dance,  mother, 
but  only  upon  the  condition  that  I  may  attire  myself 
as  it  pleases  me." 

"Well,  how  will  that  be?" 

"In  black  silk  with  jewelry.  " 

"Very  well,"  said  the  vain  mother,  "I  have  no  ob- 
jection. Black  silk  on  such  occasions  is  not  usually 
becoming  to  a  young  woman,  but  it  will  do  no  harm 
if  you  are  a  little  out  of  the  ordinary.  You  will  wear 
the  bracelets  with  the  white  stones,  will  you  not?" 

"Yes." 

"And  the  diamond  brooch?" 

"Yes,  surely  I  cannot  well  wear  other  stones  than 
diamonds  with  black  silk." 

"God  be  praised  that  you  have  been  so  reasonable!" 
saidj:he  baroness  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction.  "But 
you  must  by  no  means  forget  to  use  a  little  rouge  be- 
fore you  appear  in  the  morning.  You  may  take  my 
rouge  pot.  There  it  is  on  the  toilet  table." 

Isabella  bowed  without  answering,  and  the  affection- 


THE    PREPARATIONS  649 

ate  mother  rose  to  go  to  the  room  of  state  on  the 
upper  floor,  where  the  servants  were  already  employed 
with  preparations  for  the  coming  event. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   BIRTHDAY 

Elegant  carriages  rolled  up  to  the  steps  of  Liljedahl. 
Barons,     counts,   esquires,  military    men    and    all    the 
people  of  note  in  the  neighborhood  alighted  from  their 
conveyances,  and    were    conducted  within  by    the  po 
litely  attentive  servants. 

Maurits  Sterner  was  among  the  last  to  arrive.  Even 
he  had  been  invited,  and  had  accepted  the  invitation 
after  some  deliberation.  When  he  entered,  the  brill- 
iant halls  were  already  rilled  with  a  motley  gathering. 
Conversation  was  in  full  progress.  But  when  the 
servant  announced  him,  the  whole  assemblage,  as  if 
at  seme  given  signal,  ceased  and  turned  their  atten- 
tion to  him. 

"It  is  the  young  author,  the  gifted  dramatist!"  was 
whispered  from  one  to  the  other.  "He  is  a  distin- 
guished looking  person!  He  carries  himself  proudly! 
A  genuine  aristocrat  look,  upon  my  honor." 

"How  handsome!"  said  a  young  girl  softly  to  her 
neighbor.  "Have  you  not  seen  him  before?" 

"No,  never.' 

"He  looks  interesting!"  interposed  another.  "What 
a  high,  white  forehead!" 

"And  what  heavenly  eyes!  One  can  plainly  see  that 
he  is  a  genius  of  high  order." 

'Have  you  read  his  play?" 

"Yes." 

650 


THE    BIRTHDAY  651 

It  is  superb!  What  poetry  in  the  language!  How 
realistic  the  incidents!  One  cannot  read  it  without 
shedding  tears." 

"See,  he  is  saluting  the  baroness.  An  Adonis  could 
not  be  better  formed  than  he.  But  observe  how 
strangely  Isabella  regards  him." 

"It  is  doubtless  because  his  features  so  resemble  her 
lover's.  They  do  surely,  though  the  color  and  expres- 
sion are  as  widely  different  as  heaven  and  earth." 

'Ugh!  Yes,  look  at  the  count  standing  by  the  side 
of  Isabella!  He  looks  like  a  ghost!" 

"Yes,  he  is  horrid!  " 

"Poor  Isabella!  It  is  said  she  has  been  forced  into 
this  marriage." 

"But  the  count  is  also  handsome,    it  must   be    con 
ceded,  though  one  cannot  look  at  him  without  a  shud- 
der." 

"Mr.  Sterner  is  much  handsomer  but  he  looks  un- 
usually downcast  to-day.' 

Thus  the  girls  prattled  and  Maurits  would  have  felt 
himself  flattered,  no  doubt,  had  he  heard  their  utter- 
ances. But  his  eyes  and  thoughts  were  engaged  in 
another  direction. 

He  advanced  and  saluted  the  baroness,  who  bade 
him  welcome  with  a  gracious  smile. 

"See  there,  my  dear  Mr.  Sterner,"  said  she,  pointing 
to  Isabella,  who  was  supporting  herself  against  the 
edge  of  a  divan,  "there  is  the  heroine  of  the  day.  You, 
who  saved  her  life,  should  be  the  first  to  offer  your 
congratulations." 

Maurits  turned  toward  Isabella,  and  their  eyes  met. 
A  formal  bow  was  the  only  sign  of  recognition.  Isa- 
bella responded  with  a  slight  bending  of  her  head,  at 
the  same  time  pressing  her  hand  against  her  heart  as 
if  to  still  its  beating. 


652  THE    PLA.Y    OF    FATE 

Maurits  observed  the  movement,  and  his  face 
changed  suddenly.  The  gloom  vanished.  He  smiled 
gently  to  his  lost  bride. 

Isabella  was  attired  in  black  silk,  her  head  uncov- 
ered. Around  her  neck,  she  wore  only  a  gold  chain, 
with  bracelets  and  a  brooch  sparkling  with  gems. 
Her  unusually  beautiful  face,  surrounded  by  a  frame, 
as  it  were,  of  black  locks,  was  as  pale  as  death.  She 
resembled  a  spirit  enveloped  by  a  dark  cloud. 

Maurits  could  not  look  at  her  without  thinking  of 
the  Roman  vestal  who  was  conveyed  to  death  after 
breaking  her  vow  of  chastity. 

The  young  man's  features,  softened  at  the  sight  of 
the  deep  distress  so  plainly  to  be  read  in  Isabella's 
glance,  resumed  their  frowning  expression  when  his 
eyes  fell  upon  Eberhard,  who  stood  at  the  side  of  his 
prospective  bride. 

The  count  dropped  his  head  for  a  second.  When 
he  lifted  it  again,  Maurits  had  joined  the  other  guests. 

Up  to  this,  Eberhard  had  not  been  able  to  get  a 
word  from  Isabella.  She  made  no  answer  to  his  re- 
marks, and  when  he  looked  at  her,  she  turned  her  face 
in  another  direction. 

The  count  bit  his  lips  with  vexation.  "No  matter," 
thought  he,  "I'll  bring  her  around  when  she  is  my 
wife.  This  temper  cannot  continue." 

Tea  over,  the  guests  gathered  in  little  groups,  and 
entered  into  lively  conversation.  Meantime,  evening 
and  dusk  were  approaching.  The  sun  was  just  on  the 
point  of  sinking  when  the  servants  finally  brought  in 
the  long-expected  champagne  glasses  that  the  guests 
might  drink  to  the  health  of  the  betrothed.  The 
glasses  were  passed  around.  The  count  and  Isabella 
stood  beside  each  other  in  a  corner  of  the  salon.  Mau- 


THE    BIRTHDAY 


653 


rits  had  taken  a  position  in  their  vicinity,  while  the 
other  guests  gathered  around  the  baron,  who  was  to 
give  the  toast. 

We  will  pass  over  the  little  speech  of  the  baron,  it 
being  of  the  usual  order.  All  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
the  speaker,  except  those  of  Maurits,who  was  watching 
closely  every  movement  of  Isabella.  None  but  he 
observed  that  the  young  woman  took  from  her  hand- 
kerchief a  folded  paper  which  she  unwrapped  with  one 
hand,  while  holding  the  glass  in  the  other. 

The  baron  concluded  his  speech,  and  the  music 
broke  forth  with  a  deafening  clatter.  At  this  instant, 
Isabella,  with  lightning  quickness,  emptied  the  con- 
tents of  the  paper  into  the  glass.  Maurits  witnessed 
the  act.  A  cold  sweat  started  from  his  pores,  but  he 
remained  silent,  and  before  the  noise  of  the  instru- 
ments ceased,  Isabella  had  drained  the  glass  of  cham- 
pagne to  the  last  drop. 

A  servant  advanced  to  take  the  glass  from  her. 
Carelessly,  she  struck  it  against  a  corner  of  the  salver, 
and  dropped  it  to  the  floor  where  it  was  shattered  upon 
the  marble  into  a  thousand  pieces. 

"How  I  act!"  said  she  coldly,  as  she  moved  to  an- 
other position.  '  Pick  up  the  bits  of  glass,  John,  and 
be  careful  to  leave  none.  They  might  get  into  the 
feet  of  somebody  wearing  thin  shoes."  . 

The  servant  stooped,  and  picked  up  the  pieces, 
which  he  then  threw  out  of  the  open  window. 

"My  God!"  muttered  Maurits  to  himself,  hiding  his 
deathly  pale  face  in  his  hands,  "what  have  I  lost!" 

Maurits  was  among  the  last  to  approach  Isabella  in 
the  round  of  congratulations. 

She  reached  him  her  icy  hand.  No  one  wondered 
at  this,  for  all  knew  under  what  great  obligations  Isa- 
bella stood  to  the  young  man. 


654  THE    PLAY   OF    FATE 

"Death's  bride!"  she  whispered  in  scarcely  audible 
tones,  but  Maurits  comprehended  their  significance. 

"I  know!  I  saw  all!"  answered  Maurits,  his  lips 
quivering.  "O  Isabella!" 

She  laid  her  fingers  upon  her  lips  as  if  to  command 
silence.  The  young  man  bowed  and  rushed  away. 

The  lights  in  the  magnificent  chamber  had  been 
aglow  for  some  time.  The  guests  were  impatiently 
awaiting  the  pleasure  promised  them  by  the  baroness, 
and  were  casting  longing  glances  toward  the  still 
closed  door  to  the  green  room  into  which  Isabella, 
accompanied  by  her  maid,  had  disappeared. 

Anna  returned  finally  and  whispered  a  few  words  to 
the  baroness. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  the  latter,  rising, 
"will  you  have  the  goodness  to  follow  me?  Your  arm, 
if  you  please,  colonel." 

Escorted  by  her  cavalier,  the  baroness  set  out, 
queenlike,  at  the  head  of  the  happy,  jesting  throng. 
Baron  Ehrenstam  offered  his  arm  to  the  wife  of  an 
old  general,  George  conducted  a  young  and  pretty 
miss,  and  behind  him  waddled  the  priest  Washolm 
with  his  learned  wife,  for  even  they  were  among  the 
number  invited.  The  other  cavaliers  took  the  first  that 
came  to  hand,  except  Maurits,  who  followed  alone. 

The  double  doors  to  the  green  room  were  thrown 
open  at  a  given  signal.  A  sea  of  light  greeted  the 
assemblage.  In  the  background  was  revealed  a  red 
silk  curtain  that  concealed  a  stage. 

The  ladies  were  seated  upon  chairs  brought  in,  while 
the  gentlemen  remained  standing. 

A  deep  silence  prevailed.  Concealed  musicians 
struck  the  strings  of  their  instruments.  It  was  a 
dance  piece,  but  in  a  minor  key,  melting,  soft,  mel- 


THE     BIR1HDAY 

ancholy.  The  drapery  was  drawn  aside,  the  music 
became  livelier,  and,  as  if  borne  upon  its  airy  wings, 
Isabella  swept  into  view.  A  murmur  of  admiration 
escaped  from  the  audience,  and  again  all  was  silent 
as  the  grave.  She  was  attired  in  white  silk.  Around 
her  black  locks  was  wound  a  garland  of  white  thorn 
roses,  vying  in  color  with  the  lilies  on  her  cheeks,  for 
Isabella  had  not  painted  herself, — and  she  danced! 

Have  you  seen  fairies  dance  in  the  moonlight? 
Have  you  seen  the  gentle  breezes  play  in  the  tops  of 
the  rose  bushes?  By  the  glare  of  the  many  wax  lights, 
with  light,  fairy  tread,  with  eyes  lifted  toward  the 
heavens,  the  sylph-like  figure  moved,  scarcely  touch- 
ing the  floor  with  the  tips  of  her  toes. 

She  danced  long  and  violently,  as  if  stung  by  the 
fangs  of  the  tarantula;  as  if  the  strength  of  her  whole 
life  was  concentrated  in  this  exhibition. 

"She  is  superb!"  whispered  George  to  Maurits,  who 
was  standing  at  his  side  "What  do  you  say?" 

And  the  young  baron  placed  his  lorgnette  to  his 
eyes. 

Maurits  did  not  answer.  He  had  not  so  much  as 
heard  George's  words,  his  whole  soul  was  on  the  stage, 
and  his  eyes  were  irresistibly  fixed  upon  the  wonder- 
ful scene  before  him. 

Suddenly  Isabella's  steps  became  weaker.  She  con- 
veyed her  hand  to  her  heart  as  if  to  still  a  severe  pain. 

The  baron  uttered  a  cry  of  alarm.  Isabella  reeled, 
and  finally  sank  senseless  to  the  floor. 

Pale  and  frightened,  the  onlookers  jostled  against 
each  other  in  their  rush  toward  the  stage.  Holmer, 
who  was  also  present,  was  the  first  to  reach  her,  and 
raise  the  prostrate  form. 

Limp  as  a  broken  lily,  she  hung  over  his  arm.      Her 


656  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

eyes  were  closed,  and  on  her  lips  was  an  expression 
of  pain. 

The  baron  and  baroness,  Eberhard,  George  and 
friends,  men  and  women,  gathered  around  the  young 
girl,  who  stood  supported  by  her  former  teacher's  arm. 

Only  Maurits  had  remained  aloof.  He  cast  a  glance 
into  the  interior  of  the  hall.  He  saw  them  carrying 
the  fainting  girl  to  her  own  room,  which  was  on  the 
same  floor,  but  separated  from  the  apartments  in 
which  the  guests  now  were. 

After  this  he  saw  and  heard  nothing.  Staggering 
out  into  the  ante-room,  he  found  his  cloak,  wrapped 
himself  in  it,  and  fled  as  if  pursued  by  furies. 


CHAPTER  V 
DEATH'S  BRIDE 

The  guests  had  disappeared  as  if  by  magic,  under- 
standing that  something  out  of  the  ordinary  had  oc- 
curred; something  more  than  a  mere  faint  caused 
by  heat  and  over-exertion.  They  perceived  that  the 
baron's  family  was  threatened  \vith  a  serious  blow, 
and  they  withdrew,  therefore,  with  becoming  delicacy. 

In  less  than  a  half  hour,  the  lately  brilliant  salons 
were  deserted.  Only  a  few  servants  tiptoed  to  and 
fro,  putting  out  the  lights  in  the  chandeliers. 

In  Isabella's  room  stood  the  baron  and  his  wife 
bending  over  their  daughter's  death-bed.  George,  com- 
plaining of  sleepiness,  had  already  retired  to  rest,  and 
Eberhard,  seeing  that  he  could  be  of  no  other  service, 
had  set  out  for  Carlstad  with  the  utmost  speed,  to 
summon  a  doctor.  But  it  was  twenty-four  miles  to 
Carlstad,  and  before  his  return  with  the  physician, 
many  things  might  have  taken  place.  Death,  the 
never-failing  healer  of  all  ails,  could  have  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  struggler. 

After  Isabella  had  been  borne  to  her  room  and  laid 
upon  her  bed,  her  clothes  were  unfastened  to  give  her 
air,  but  she  was  not  wholly  disrobed.  Her  eyes  were 
now  open,  and  she  breathed  again.  She  had  recov- 
ered from  her  faint,  and  inhaled  the  odors  from  the 
smelling-bottle  held  to  her  nose  by  the  baroness. 

"Thank  you,     mother,"    said    she  in    a  weak    voice, 


658  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

pushing  her  mother's  hand  aside.  "No,  no!"  objected 
she,  upon  noticing  an  attempt  to  disrobe  her,  "let  me 
rest!  Do  not  undress  me,  I  wish  to  die  as  I  am." 

"Die!  "  burst  forth  the  baron,  "do  not  think  of  dy- 
ing; this  little  indisposition  will  soon  pass  off." 

Isabella,  at  this  instant,  was  a  prey  to  the  most 
excruciating  pain — pain  that  seemed  to  be  tearing  her 
in  pieces  inwardly — but  not  a  move  betrayed  the  agony 
she  was  suffering. 

"Yes,  father,"  said  she  in  a  low  voice,  "there  is  no 
hope  for  me.  I  have  been  struck  down  by  apoplexy. 
I  feel  that  all  will  be  ended  in  a  few  hours.  But 
before  I  die,  I  have  a  request  to  which  I  wish  you 
would  listen,  my  parents.  A  dying  one's  wishes  are 
hoi}'.  You  cannot  refuse  me." 

"What  is  it,  my  child?"  asked  the  baroness,  whose 
nerves  were  in  a  sore  state  over  the  affair.  "If  you 
are  dying— but  that  I  cannot  believe — it  shall  be  our 
sacred  duty  to  carry  out  your  wishes." 

"I  wish  to  be  buried  in  this  dress,  with  the  gold 
chain  around  my  neck.  I  will  not  be  disrobed  and 
clad  in  a  sbroud.  No.  Usch!  I  so  abhor  shrouds. 
I  wish  to  be  buried  as  I  am,  with  the  faded  roses  in 
my  hair — in  this  white  dress  of  which  you  will  not 
divest  me.  Do  you  promise  me,  father?" 

"I  give  you  my  word  that  your  wishes  shall  be 
obeyed,"  said  the  baron;  "but  why  speak  of  death?" 

Isabella  did  not  answer  immediately.  Her  body 
shook  from  the  pains  that  were  destroying  her,  but 
only  a  faint  quiver  of  the  lips  betrayed  the  fire  that 
raged  within. 

By  her  characteristic  strong  will,  with  an  energy 
worthy  the  women  of  antiquity,  the  dying  girl  quelled 
her  almost  unbearable  pangs,  and  resumed  with  a 
steady  though  weak  voice: 


DEATH'S  BRIDE  659 

"And  above  all,  it  is  my  wish  that  you  do  not  allow 
a  doctor  to  see  me.  Have  you  sent  for  a  doctor, 
father?" 

'  Yes." 

"If  I  die  before  his  arrival,  you  must  not  allow  him 
to  see  me ;  you  must,  at  least,  forbid  an  autopsy.  I 
will  not  be  dissected.  For  heaven's  sake,  promise  me 
this!" 

"I  promise,"  said  the  baron. 

Hereupon  a  terrible  suspicion  seized    the  baroness. 

She  rushed  forward  to  the  bed,  grasped  Isabella 
spasmodically  by  the  arm,  and  broke  out  wildly: 

"Unhappy  girl!     Have  you  poisoned  yourself?" 

"Hush!  mother,  make  no  investigations,ask  no  ques- 
tions. Let  me  die.  What  has  taken  place  cannot  be 
changed"  (Isabella  now  seemed  to  wander).  "If  I 
have  taken  poison,  you  must  keep  it  secret.  Ha!  it 
burns,  burns  terribly.  Am  I  not  yet  consumed?" 

"What  kind  of  poison  did  you  take,  unfortunate 
girl?"  shrieked  the  baroness,  almost  beside  herself 
with  horror. 

Isabella  made  no  answer. 

The  baron  said  nothing.  The  discovery  had  con- 
founded him  as  if  he  had  been  struck  by  lightning. 
He  saw  his  child  dying.  It  was  his  own  cruelty,  he 
felt,  that  had  impelled  her  to  the  act. 

"She  must  have  an  antidote,"  shrieked  the  baroness, 
"but  we  have  none.  O,  my  God!  What  shall  be 
done!  She  has  ceased  speaking.  She  will  not  tell 
us  what  kind  of  poison  she  has  taken.  O,  I  die!  " 

The  baroness  sank  in  a  faint  upon  a  sofa  standing 
opposite  the  bed.  The  baron  stood  some  minutes 
immovable  between  his  dying  daughter  and  insensible 
wife.  What  thoughts  overwhelmed  him  at  this  in- 


660  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

stant,  this  man  with  nerves  of  iron  and  a  heart  as  cold 
as  ice? 

Suddenly  he  seemed  to  collect  himself.  Passing 
his  hand  over  his  forehead,  he  next  grasped  the  bell 
cord  and  gave  it  a  violent  pull.  Two  maid  servants 
rushed  in. 

"The  baroness  is  ill,"  said  the  baron,  pointing  to 
the  unconscious  woman.  "Take  her  to  her  chamber, 
and  endeavor  to  restore  her.  Wake  George  and  tell 
him  to  attend  his  mother.  I  will  watch  by  my  daugh- 
ter." 

"But  shall  we  not  undress  her?"  Anna  ventured  to 
ask. 

"Silence,  and  obey  me!"  said  the  baron  sharply. 

The  two  women  took  the  baroness  between  them, 
and  conveyed  her  to  her  room. 

The  baron  found  himself  alone  with  his  dying 
daughter. 

'Isabella,"  said  he  in  a  low  voice,  bending  over  her, 
"do  you  hear?  Can  you  understand  what  I  say?" 

Isabella  gave   an  affirmative  sign. 

'Do  you  suffer  much?" 

"No,  I  am  easier  now,"  muttered  the  dying  girl. 
"It  will  soon  be  over." 

"You  think,  then,  that  it  is  impossible  to  save  you?" 

"Impossible.  Do  you  not  see  that  I  am  already  in 
the  embrace  of  death?  Heavenly  Father,  forgive  me, 
and  do  not  forsake  your  child!" 

Isabella  was  now  seized  with  a  severe  attack  of 
vomiting.  The  baron  bent  over  her  and  held  her 
forehead,  but  the  nausea  passed  away  quickly.  Her 
head  sank  back  upon  the  p.illows;  her  eyes  closed 
again;  her  breathing  became  calm  and  faint  and  the 
pain  seemed  to  have  left  her. 


DEATH'S  BRIDE  66i 

"Isabella,"  resumed  the  baron,  "have  you  any  further 
wishes?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer  in  a  weakening  voice.  "I 
will  not  be  buried  in  the  Ehrenstam  tomb.  I  wish  to 
be  buried  deep,  deep  under  the  ground." 

"Isabella,"  said  the  baron  with  wrinkled  brow,  "I 
cannot  consent  to  this  desire.  Isabella  Ehrenstam 
must  repose  in  the  grave  of  her  forefathers,  not,  as  a 
plebeian,  in  a  churchyard." 

"So  be  it,  then,"  Isabella  replied  in  a  voice  scarcely 
audible,  "but  let  it  be  soon,  in  four  days  at  the  long- 
est." 

"Yes,  yes!"  said  the  baron.  "Is  there  anything 
else?  " 

"No,"  murmured  the  dying  girl.  "O,  Maurits!  We 
shall  see  each  other  in  a  better  world.  God  is  good! 
He  forgives  — us  the  sins  that  love  has  incited  us  to — 
and  you  will — cherish  my — memory — Maurits!" 

The  last  words  were  whispered  from  dying  lips. 

The  baron  laid  his  hand  upon  Isabella's  heart.  Its 
beat  was  hushed.  He  grasped  her  arm.  It  was  ice 
cold,  and  the  pulse  had  ceased.  Upon  the  still  beau- 
tiful features,  rested  the  shadow  of  death. 

"It  is  over!"  muttered  the  baron  to.  himself.  "She 
is  dead!  It  is  I  that  have  murdered  her,  but  silence 
upon  this  point.  No  one  shall  know  the  cause  of  her 
death.  She  said  herself,  'I  die  of  apoplexy, '  and  so 
it  must  be." 

He  crept  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  The  adjoining 
rooms  were  dark  and  deserted.  He  seized  the  vessel 
into  which  Isabella  had  vomited,  and  threw  the  con- 
tents from  the  window,  after  which  he  covered  the 
dead  girl's  face  with  the  sheet,  grasped  the  bell  rope 
and  rang. 


662  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Anna  entered. 

"How  is  the  baroness?"  he  asked. 

"She  sleeps.  But,  in  the  name  of  the  Lord,  how  is 
it  with  my  mistress!" 

Anna  rushed  wildly  forward  to  the  bedside. 

"Your  mistress  is  dead,"  said  the  baron,  passing  his 
handkerchief  over  his    tearless  eyes;  "she  died    of  ap 
oplexy. " 

"Poor,  poor  Isabella!"  cried  the  girl  weeping,  and 
grasping  a  cold  hand,  she  covered  it  with  kisses.  "Ah, 
my  God!  So  young,  so  beautiful  and  angelic,  and 
yet,  yet  she  must  die!  "  Anna  wept. 

She  was  the  only  one  who  shed  a  tear  over  the 
dead  one  for  whom  she  had  always  entertained  the 
most  marked  esteem. 

"My  God!  That  it  should  be  so  sudden!"  she 
cried. 

"Such  things  always  take  the  victim  off  suddenly,  my 
child,"  said  the  baron,  "if  immediate  help  is  not  at 
hand.  We  have  done  all  we  could,  and  must  bow  to 
the  will  of  the  Almighty." 

Anna's  only  response  was  tears  and  sighs.  She  had 
uncovered  the  face  of  her  mistress  that  she  might  once 
more  look  upon  her  features.  It  was  as  calm  and  as 
white  as  marble.  The  morning  sun,  bright  and  clear, 
as  it  rose  above  the  lake,  cast  its  soft  rays  into  the 
room  and  over  the  objects  therein. 

"It  is  already  full  day,"  said  the  baron;  "go  down 
and  retire.  You  must  need  sleep." 

"Can  I  sleep  when  my.  angel-like  mistress  is  dead!" 
sobbed  the  girl.  "No,  never!" 

"Go,"  said  the  baron  with  a  commanding  gesture. 

The  maid  cast  yet  another  glance  at  the  dear  dead 
mistress,  and  covering  her  face  again,  retired. 


DEATH'S  BRIDE  663 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  the  doctor  arrived,  following 
which  a  long  consultation  took  place  in  the  baron's 
private  apartments.  When  he  departed  the  baron 
dropped  several  notes  for  considerable  sums  into  his 
pocket. 

Many  stories  of  poisoning  have  been  buried  in  the 
bowels  of  the  earth  in  consequence  of  a  doctor's  ava- 
rice and  greed. 


CHAPTER    VI 

THE     BARONIAL    TOMB 

Miss  Ehrenstam's  death  was  caused  by  apoplexy. 
This  was  the  report  spread  with  lightning  rapidity 
among  the  neighbors,  of  whom  none  doubted  the  truth- 
fulness thereof.  Only  Maurits  knew,  and  Eberhard 
suspected  the  horrible  truth,  but  they  were  both  silent 
from  easily  conjectured  motives.  Moreover,  nothing 
bidding  him  remain  longer,  Maurits  had  left  the 
country  the  day  after  Isabella's  death.  We  will  return 
to  his  wanderings  further  on.  For  the  present,  we 
will  remain  where  the  last  acts  of  our  narrative  oc- 
curred. 

The  baron  had  not  violated  the  promise  given  his 
daughter  on  her  death-bed.  The  garments  in  which 
she  died  were  not  exchanged  for  the  customary  shroud. 
Only  the  faded  roses  had  been  removed  to  give  place 
to  some  freshly  plucked  on  the  day  of  her  entomb- 
ment. 

The  gold  chain,  to  which  was  attached  the  amber 
heart,  hung  around  her  neck.  No  one  knew  anything 
about  the  ornament  the  dying  girl  wished  to  carry 
with  her  to  the  grave. 

After  the  service,  which  was  conducted  in  the  parish 
church,  and  the  pompous  discourse  delivered  by  the 
Priest  Washolm,  Isabella's  coffin  was  borne  to  the 
family  vault  of  the  Ehrenstam's  where  it  was  depos- 
ited by  the  side  of  that  of  the  baron's  first  wife. 

604 


THE    BARONIAL    TOMB  665 

When  the  baron  returned  to  his  bed-chamber  in  the 
evening,  after  the  funeral,  he  found  the  window  open 
and  on  a  table  near  it  a  note  containing  only  these 
words: 

"Ycur  eldest 'son  was  murdered,  and  your  daughter 
took  her  own  life.  Tremble!  The  amber  heart  craves 
new  sacrifices.  Tremble!  For  your  two  children  have 
been  smitten  by  the  hand  of  the  goddess  of  revenge." 

The  baron  was  stupefied. 

The  vault  in  which  Isabella's  coffin  was  placed  was 
quite  large,  and  faintly  lighted  by  a  grated  window 
of  small  opaque  panes  of  glass  very  much  dimmed  by 
dust  and  cobwebs.  Here  slumbered  generations  in 
silence  and  peace  beside  each  other.  Here  wrangling 
ceased.  And  why  shoifld  they  wrangle?  They  were 
of  one  family. 

The  grave  as  well  as  life  has  its  aristocracy. 

The  moon  illumined  the  rural  churchyard,  and  cast 
its  pale  rays  over  monuments  and  crosses  that  pre- 
served the  memory  of  yeoman  or  husbandman,  this  or 
that,  but  into  the  tomb  of  the  aristocracy  she  did  not 
venture.  It  may  be  she  was  frightened  by  the  coats 
of  arms,  ensigns,  armor  and  swords  rusting  within. 

A  man  bearing  in  his  hand  a  short  ladder  crept 
stealthily  forward  over  the  dewy  grass  between  the 
graves  until  he  reached  the  baronial  tomb,  where  he 
paused  under  the  before-mentioned  window. 

"Here  it  is,"  whispered  he  in  a  trembling  voice. 
"Dare  I  disturb  the  rest  of  the  dead!  But  I  must! 
She  was  buried  with  that  ornament  suspended  to  her 
neck.  I  know  that,  and  the  ornament  I  musf  have  to 
aid  me  in  carrying  out  my  revenge.  Without  it,  I 
shall  fail.  The  powers  of  fate  hover  over  him  who 


666  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

wears  it.  Curses  and  blood  go  with  it.  It  must  not 
remain  with  her,  for  then  her  family  would  be  rescued 
from  its  unfortunate  influence.  To  work,  therefore!" 

He  placed  the  ladder  against  the  wall,  climbed  up, 
and  with  little  difficulty  pried  loose  the  rusty  grating 
before  the  window.  After  depositing  it  carefully  on 
the  ground,  he  crept  through  the  opening  and  found 
a  footing  inside  on  the  pile  of  coffins  heaped  against 
the  inner  wall. 

A  few  minutes  later  a  second  person,  closely  wrapped 
in  a  cloak,  entered  the  churchyard.  This  was  Holmer. 
Heavy  of  heart  and  sorrowing,  he  wandered  among 
the  graves,  his  head  bent  in  deep  meditation. 

"So  young,  so  beautiful,  so  gifted!  "  muttered  he, 
"and  that  she  should  die!  My  proud,  my  noble  Isa- 
bella! How  I  miss  you!  How  I  mourn  you!  And 
so  suddenly!  Of  apoplexy,  I  am  told.  Her  parents 
sought  to  compel  her  to  give  her  hand  to  that  wretch, 
and  death  was  more  generous  than  they.  He  liberated 
her.  And  after  crushing  her  heart,  they  bade  her 
dance  to  please  the  guests,  and  that  they  might  boast 
of  their  daughter's  talents.  It  was  a  death  dance,  but, 
heavens,  what  a  dance!" 

At  this  instant,  Holmer  espied  the  ladder  resting 
againts  the  wall. 

"Ha!  What  is  this!"  cried  he  with  a  start.  "The 
window  broken  open  and  a  ladder  against  the  wall! 
A  grave  robber,  no  doubt!  " 

Being  a  man  of  more  than  ordinary  nerve,  and 
afraid  of  nothing  when  his  duty  seemed  to  lead  him, 
Holmer  did  not  ponder  long,  but  sprang  up  the  ladder 
and  thrust  his  head  through  the  opening. 

He  trembled,  brave  though  he  was,  at  the  scene 
presented  within,  and  withdrew  his  head  for  an  in- 


THE    BARONIAL    TOMB  667 

stant.  But  collecting  himself  quickly,  he  threw  his 
cloak  to  the  ground,  and  crept  through  the  window 
into  the  vault. 

This  was  the  sight  that  met  his  eyes.  Standing  on 
one  of  the  other  coffins,  Holmer  saw  Isabella's  broken 
open,  and  the  corpse,  clad  in  her  white  silk  dress,  and 
a  half  faded  garland  of  roses  around  her  head,  sitting 
upright  therein.  Was  it  a  ghost,  or  had  life  returned 
to  her  pulse? 

On  his  knees  beside  the  coffin  was  a  man  clad  in 
rags.  One  of  his  arms  was  resting  against  the  coffin, 
the  other  hanging  limp  at  his  side.  His  face  was  pale 
and  motionless,  and  in  his  wildly  staring  eyes  there 
was  the  expression  to  be  found  only  in  those  of  a 
corpse.  In  the  hand  resting  on  the  coffin  he  held  a 
shining  trinket  which  he  appeared  to  have  taken  from 
the  dead.  This  trinket  was  a  gold  chain  to  which  was 
attached  an  amber  heart. 

-  With  a  cry,  Holmer  plunged  forward  over  the 
crumbling  coffins,  threw  his  arms  around  Isabella's 
waist,  and  lifting  her  up,  seated  her  upon  the  nearest 
available  object. 

"Where  am  I?"  asked  Isabella  in  a  weak  voice, 
looking  in  perplexity  around  her. 

"Isabella,  you  live!  Heaven  be  praised!"  cried 
Holmer,  overcome  with  joy.  "Do  you  not  know  me? 
It  is  your  friend,  your  teacher,  Holmer,  whom  provi- 
dence has  directed  here  to  rescue  you." 

"Is  it  you,  Holmer?  O,  why  did  you  you  wake  me? 
Why  not  allow  me  to  sleep  in  peace?  I  slept  so 
sweetly.  1  had  not  wakened  if  you  had  not  come  here 
to  rob  me  of  my  heart. " 

"Your  heart,  Isabella?" 

"Yes,  yes,  the  amber  heart  that  reposed  on  my 
breast." 


668  TrtE  PLAY  OF*  FATE: 

"It  was  not  I,  it  was  he,"  said  Holmer,  pointing  to 
the  inanimate  figure  of  the  robber,  still  lying  in  the 
same  position  as  when  Holmer  entered. 

"And  who  is  he? " 

"I  do  not  know,  A  wretch  who  came  here  to  rob 
you,  perhaps,  but  whom  God  in  his  mercy  has  em- 
ployed to  restore  you  to  life,  Isabella.  I  was  walk- 
ing in  the  churchyard  when  I  saw  the  open  window 
and  the  ladder  placed  against  the  wall.  Suspecting 
that  all  was  not  right,  I  rushed  in,  and,  heaven  be 
thanked,  found  you  roused  from  a  trance.  But  quick, 
I  must  take  you  from  this  disagreeable  place.  Marie- 
hind  is  only  a  few  rods  away.  You  must  go  there 
with  me.  It  will  bs  time  enough  in  the  morning  to 
restore  you  to  your  parents." 

"No,  no,  not  that!  Never  to  Liljedahl!"  cried  Isa- 
bella. "I  much  prefer  to  remain  here.  The  dead  Eh- 
renstams  will  not  do  me  so  much  harm  as  the  living." 

"As  you  will,  Isabella.  I  will  take  you  where  you 
wish  and  your  parents  shall  not  know  that  you  are 
restored  to  life  if  you  so  desire.  But  what  shall  we 
do  with  him?" 

Holme;  approached  the  grave  robber,  took  the 
lantern  and  scanned  his  face. 

"He  appears  to  be  dead,"  muttered  he. 

Holmer  took  the  ravisher's  hand,  it  was  ice  cold. 
He  laid  his  own  over  the  man's  heart.  It  was  still. 
He  was  dead,  stone  dead. 

"The  fright  has  killed  him,"  said  Holmer.  "God's 
hand  has  stricken  the  desecrator  of  holy  places.  There 
is  not  a  spark  of  life  remaining,  I  am  sure.  ' 

Holmer  grasped  the  gold  chain  held  in  the  robber's 
hand,  but  it  was  clenched  in  his  death  grasp  as  if  held 
in  a  vise.  He  succeeded  finally  in  releasing  it,  but 


THE    HAKONIAL    TOMB  669 

did  not  observe  that  in  the  effort  the  amber  heart  had 
become  detached,  and  had  fallen  down  between  the 
coffins. 

"There,"  said  Holmer.  "What  shall  we  now  do 
with  the  corpse?  Ha!"  exclaimed  he,  a  good  idea  ap- 
parently coming  to  him,  "let  the  thief,  the  ragamuffin, 
the  plunderer  of  the  dead,  sleep  in  the  baronial  tomb 
of  the  Ehrenstams.  Fate  has  so  willed  it.  He  will 
not  be  sought  here." 

Grasping  the  body  of  the  man,  he  lifted  it  and  laid 
it  in  the  coffin  from  which  Isabella  has  just  arisen. 

"If  he  should  come  to  life  again,  though  I  need  have 
little  fear  on  that  point,"  thought  Holmer,  "he  can, 
at  the  worst,  go  out  by  the  same  way  that  he  entered. " 
He  laid  the  cover,  therefore,  loosely  upon  the  coffin, 
so  that  if  possibly  the  occupant  should  revive  he  could 
release  himself  without  difficulty. 

He  need  have  shown  no  concern.  The  robber  was 
dead,  and  by  the  side  of  his  illustrious  ancestors 
rested  the  outcast  son,  Jacob  Kron.  Fate  had  so 
willed  it. 

Meantime,  Isabella,  by  the  rays  of  the  moon  which 
had  now  crept  around  and  through  the  window,  could 
distinguish  the  name  engraved  upon  the  silver  plate 
ornamenting  the  lid  of  the  coffin  en  which  she  sat. 

She  started  as  she  read,  "Isabella  Ehrenstam."  But 
a  recollection  flashed  upon  her.  "My  father's  first 
wife  was  so  named/'  said  she  softly.  "I  remember 
to  have  heard  it.  I  am  then  sitting  on  the  coffin  of 
my  namesake. " 

"Now,  Isabella,"  said  Holmer,  placing  his  arm 
around  her  waist,  "come  with  me." 

Isabella  obeyed. 

Feeling  her  shiver,  he  asked,  "Do  you  suffer  much?" 
•  "No,  no!  But  I  am  freezing." 


670  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Holmer  lifted  her  to  the  uppermost  of  the  coffins 
that  stood  before  the  window. 

"Hold  fast  to  the  wall,"  said  he,  "I  will    go    first." 

Creeping  out,  he  secured  a  foothold  on  the  ladder, 
and,  grasping  Isabella's  arm,  drew  her  toward  him. 
Before  long,  both  were  safely  outside.  Holmer  picked 
up  his  cloak  from  the  ground  and  threw  it  over  Isa- 
bella's shoulders,  whereupon  he  restored  the  window 
bars  to  their  place,  removed  the  ladder  and  threw  it 
over  the  wall  of  the  enclosure. 

Supported  by  his  arm,  Isabella  accompanied  him 
on  his  way  home.  They  soon  reached  the  road  lead- 
ing to  Marielund,  which  was  already  visible  through 
the  trees. 

"If  you  are  unable  to  walk,"  said  Holmer,  "I  will 
carry  you. " 

"No,  no!"  answered  his  companion.  "I  am  very 
weak,  of  course,  but  I  think  I  am  strong  enough  to 
endure  the  walk.  O,  my  friend,  if  you  knew  how  ter- 
ribly I  have  suffered  during  these  days  I  have  been 
laid  away  for  dead!" 

"What!     You  have  been  conscious?" 

"Yes,  yes,  it  was  dreadful!  I  heard  them  discuss- 
ing my  death,  and  I  felt  hot  tears  falling  upon  my  fore- 
head. It  was  my  maid  who  wept  over  me.  I  felt 
them  lift  me,  and  deposit  me  in  that  narrow  coffin; 
heard  the  bells  ring,  and  the  murmur  of  the  people 
who  were  present  at  my  funeral;  the  three  shovelfuls 
of  dirt  thrown  upon  my  coffin  struck  heavily  upon  my 
ears;  I  heard  the  words  of  the  priest,  'earth  to  earth 
and  dust  to  dust,'  and,  finally,  I  heard  the  whole  of 
the  grandiloquent  speech  the  priest  delivered  over 
me. " 

"O  God!     This  is  terrible!      And  then?" 


THE    BARONIAL    TOMB  67! 

"I  heard  nothing  after.  I  remember  nothing  more. 
I  had  ceased  to  suffer.  I  had  lost  consciousness,  and 
so  remained  until  I  felt  a  hand  touch  my  throat  and 
grasp  the  gold  chain  that  hung  there.  It  was  then  as 
if  some  one  was  trying  to  tear  the  heart  from  my 
breast.  Life  returned,  1  drew  a  deep  breath,  the 
trance  was  broken.  With  a  faint  cry,  I  sat  up  and 
caught  the  robber  by  the  arm.  He  fell  to  the  earth 
as  if  struck  by  lightning.  At  the  same  instant,  I 
heard  a  voice,  and  felt  myself  clasped  in  your  arms. 
God  sent  you  to  my  rescue  that  I  might  not  die  again 
of  the  most  horrible  of  deaths,  starvation  in  a  tomb. 
You  must  take  me  to  your  home,  so  that  I  may  die 
among  friends,  die  as  one  should,  for  I  do  not  wish 
tj  live.  And  when  you  are  convinced  that  I  am  dead 
you  are  to  lay  me  in  the  bosom  of  the  earth,  deep, 
deep  under  the  sod.  Only  there  will  my  heart,  my 
bursting  heart  be  comforted." 

"Do  not  say  so.  Isabella,  '  said  Holmer  with  feeling; 
"you  shall  live,  and  you  may  yet  be  happy." 

"Happy!"  repeated  she  with  a  faint  smile;  "you  do 
not  know  what  you  say,  my  poor  friend.  Do  you 
know  what  caused  my  sudden  illness,  and  the  torpor 
that  so  resembled  death?" 

"It  was  reported  that  you  died  of  apoplexy." 

"So  they  said,  but  they  were  deceived.  It  was 
poison. " 

"Poison!"  cried  Holrner  sharply,  letting  her  arm 
drop;  "you  are  beside  yourself,  my  dear  girl!" 

'Support  me,  Holmer,  I  am  so  weak. " 

Isabella  reeled.      He  took  her  arm  again. 

"Forgive  me,"  said  he.  "I  was  so  astonished  that 
I  did  not  know  what  I  was  doing.  And  you  say  it  was 
poison?" 


672  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Yes." 

"And  who  gave  you  poison?" 

"I  took  it  myself." 

"Great  God!  A  suicide,  then!  Where  did  you  get 
it?" 

"I  had  a  strong  opium  powder  which  I  mixed  with 
some  arsenic  that  I  found  accidentally.  Unobserved, 
I  dropped  the  powder  into  my  wine  when  I  should 
answer  the  toast  my  father  proposed." 

"Heavenly  Father!  That  was  why  you  broke  the 
glass  after  you  had  emptied  it?" 

"Yes." 

"And  what  brought  you  to  this  desperate  determina- 
tion?" 

"You  shall  know  later.  It  is  a  dreadful  story.  But 
I  am  now  so  tired,  so  tired,  and,  besides,  we  are  al- 
ready at  Marielund.  Take  me  to  your  chamber  and 
let  me  sleep.  But  do  not  reveal  to  any  one,  except 
Marie,  who  is  a  friend  on  whom  I  can  depend,  what 
a  pale  guest  you  have  brought  with  you  from  the 
grave 

Holmer  did  not  answer,  but,  lifting  her  in  his  arms 
with  a  father's  tenderness,  he  carried  her  upstairs  to 
his  own  room  where  he  laid  her  upon  the  bed. 

Several  days  had  sped  by.  The  servants  of  Marie- 
lund talked  of  nothing  but  the  secret  room  to  which 
no  one  was  permitted  entrance  except  the  master  and 
mistress,  who,  by  times  together,  by  times  one  only, 
remained  there  both  night  and  da)\  They  wondered 
and  guessed,  but  all  were  far  from  suspecting  the  truth 

Meanwhile,  under  the  kind  hand  and  watchful  atten- 
tion of  her  friends,  Isabella  had  by  degrees  regained 
her  health.  She  was  still  weak,  and  her  cheeks  (as 


THE    BARONIAL    TOMB  673 

is  said  to  be  always  with  one  who  has  been  in  a  trance) 
were  yet  pale,  but  her  beauty  had  suffered  nothing  by 
the  entombment.  Her  figure  had  resumed  its  former 
fullness,  and  her  step  the  light  elasticity  that  always 
distinguished  her.  Attired  in  one  of  Marie's  simple 
gowns,  Isabella  rested  one  evening  on  the  sofa  in 
Holmer' s  room.  The  window  was  open,  and  the  mild 
summer  air  wafted  the  sweet  fragrance  borrowed  from 
the  flowers  of  the  garden  beneath  in  through  the  drawn 
curtains.  Holmer  sat  by  her  side,  her  hand  resting  in 
his.  They  conversed  seriously  and  with  lowered 
voices. 

Holmer  and  Marie  now  knew  all.  Isabella  had 
confided  to  them  what  she  termed  her  dishonor;  she 
had  told  them  of  her  love  for  Maurits  and  the  horrible 
deception  that  Eberhard  employed  for  the  purpose  of 
gratifying  his  desire  for  revenge  because  of  her  scorn, 
and  to  compel  her  to  become  his  wife. 

The  subject  of  the  present  conversation  was  the 
young  girl's  future.  She  would  not  return  to  Lil- 
jedahl.  Before  that,  she  would  die  again.  How 
would  her  parents  look  upon  a  daughter  whom  they 
knew  had  attempted  to  destroy  herself? 

Holmer  did  not  oppose  her  in  this,  and  how  could 
he  have  done  so? 

"Isabella,"  said  he  with  feeling,  "there  is  a  saying, 
'The  grave  expiates  all.'  Maurits  Sterner,  now  trav- 
eling in  foreign  lands  for  the  purpose  of  dispelling  his 
grief,  will  return  to  find  you  living.  His  love,  never 
extinguished,  will  blaze  up  anew.  He  will  forget  his 
former  Isabella,  whom  he  looked  upon  as  dishonored, 
and  will  see  you  a  bride  purified  by  the  grave— the  love 
of  his  dreams,  just  as  beautiful,  just  as  good  and  pure 
as  before.  Believe  me.  I  know  him,  he  will  think 


674  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

so.  He  will  not  heed  the  blemish,  or  he  will  think  of 
it  only  as  brought  upon  you  through  your  love  for 
him.  Courage,  then,  Isabella,  only  a  few  years  and 
you  will  t}e  as  happy  as  you  dare  hope  to  be." 

Isabella  listened  to  these  assurances  and  a  faint 
hope  invigorated  her.  She  felt  herself  again  inclined  to 
live. 

"But  where  shall  I  go?"  said  she.  "I  possess  noth- 
ing of  wealth  except  this  gold  chain  which  you  took 
from  the  hands  of  the  wretch  who  would  have  robbed 
me  of  it. " 

"I  have  a  plan,  Isabella,  which  seems  to  me  to  be  a 
very  good  one." 

"Let  me  hear  it. " 

"In  the  southern  part  of  Smoland,"  continued 
Holmer,  "there  lives  on  a  small  estate  an  aged  lady  of 
most  worthy  qualities.  This  lady  is  distantly  related 
to  me.  We  have  always  kept  up  a  very  warm  friend- 
ship, and  a  lively  interchange  of  letters.  She  is  the 
widow  of  an  officer,  is  childless  and  lives  a  very  se- 
cluded life  at  her  beautiful  little  home.  I  have  just 
received  a  letter  from  her  in  which  she  urges  me  in  the 
strongest  terms  to  pay  her  a  visit.  You  shall  go  with 
me,  Isabella  I  am  sure  she  will  welcome  you  with 
the  kindness  of  a  mother.  You  can  rest  there  in 
peace  and  quiet  until  better  days  come." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  his  listener  eagerly,  "nothing 
would  gratify  me  so  much  as  to  go  to  some  distant 
and  pleasant  place  where  I  might  live  unknown  and 
forgotten.  I  am  already  in  love  with  your  good- 
hearted  relative.  What  is  her  name?" 

"Her  name  is  Strom,  and  her  home  is  at  Almvik." 

"Almvik,  that  is  a  very  pretty  name." 

"She  is  a  kind,  good  natured  and  unpretentious  lady, 


THE    BARONIAL    TOMB  675 

of  something  over  fifty  years  of  age.  She  is  not  a 
cultured  person,  but  her  excellent  qualities  of  heart 
compensate  for  the  lack  in  this  regard.  She,  too,  has 
suffered  greatly,  and  will  more  readily  understand 
you,  and  know  how  to  sympathize  with  you.  We  may 
relate  to  her  as  much  of  your  history  as  we  choose 
without  fear  that  our  confidence  will  be  abused." 

"But,"  said  Isabella,  "how  shall  I  pay  her  for  my 
maintenance?  I  cannot  ask  her  to  support  me  with- 
out compensation. 

"You  may  work,  Isabella,  and  assist  the  lady  in  her 
household  affairs.  You  can  also  earn  a  little  money 
with  your  brush,  with  which  you  have  already  dis- 
played such  remarkable  skill.  Moreover,  the  day  will 
surely  come  when  you  can  recompense  her  for  the  little 
she  may  have  to  lay  out  upon  you." 

"I  am  agreed  to  all!"  cried  Isabella;  "anything  to 
get  away  from  this  neighborhood.  When  shall  we 
go?" 

"As  soon  as  you  are  fully  recovered." 

"I  am  quite  well;  but  I  must  first  sell  my  gold 
chain,  which  is  no  longer  of  value  to  me  since  the 
amber  heart  is  gone,  and  buy  some  clothes.  I  must 
not  go  to  my  new  home  without  a  wardrobe.  I  have 
nothing  now  but  the  dress  in  which  I  was  buried," 
added  she  with  a  mournful  smile,  "and  I  shudder  at 
thought  of  wearing  it." 

"We  will  procure    clothes    for    you,     Isabella,"  said 
Holmer,  "and  can  you  guess  how?" 
'No." 

"Your  effects  are  to  be  sold  to-morrow  by  auction 
at  Liljedahl.  I  will  go  there  and  bid  in  such  articles 
as  you  may  require.  What  do  you  say  to  that?" 

"A  strange  idea,"  said    Isabella    laughing,   "but  ex- 


676  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

cellent,  nevertheless.  In  this  way,  I  can  procure 
clothes  that  will  fit  me,  at  least.  Buy  only  the  most 
simple  and  least  expensive  of  my  garments,  however. 
No  silk  or  other  costly  articles." 

"Very  well.  But  are  there  no  other  things  than  cloth- 
ing that  you  would  have  again?" 

"Yes,  truly.  But  I  have  no  money  with  which  to 
buy  them." 

"Don't  let  that  restrain  you,  you  may  borrow  from 
me.  The  time  will  come  when  you  can  repay  it." 

Isabella  gave  him  a  list  of  articles  she  would  have, 
a  memorandum  of  which  he  entered  in  his  pocket- 
book.  A  few  books,  several  pieces  of  music  and  a 
few  little  trinkets  dear  to  her  that  she  would  have  if 
possible.  Holmer  laughingly  promised  to  obey  her 
wishes  to  the  best  of  his  ability. 

Following  this,  Marie  was  summoned,  and  the  plans 
laid  before  her,  all  of  which  she  entered  into  with 
hearty  accord. 

It  was  next  agreed  that  Isabella  should  lay  aside 
her  present  name  and  take  one  more  common,  no 
matter  what. 

A  few  days  after  the  foregoing  conversation,  Hol- 
mer, accompanied  by  his  ward,  left  Marielund.  Isa- 
bella had  secured  a  good  portion  of  her  former  ward- 
robe, and  was,  therefore,  well  provided  with  clothing, 
and  beyond  dependence  in  this  matter. 

The  journey  was  a  pleasant  one,  and  Isabella  felt 
her  spirits  rise  with  every  mile  placed  between  her 
and  her  home.  She  felt  like  a  bird  that  had  long 
been  confined  in  a  golden  cage,  her  feet  tied  by  a 
silken  ribbon,  now  let  loose  into  the  green  wood  and 
fresh  air.  Recollections  of  the  past  could  not  be  driven 


THE    BARONIAL    TOMB  677 

from  her  mind,  and  a  never-fading  cloud  hung  over 
her  heaven,  but  her  melancholy  had  assumed  a  milder 
character.  Her  sorrow  was  indeed  deep,  but  it  did 
not  reach  to  despair  and  hopelessness.  She  had  al- 
ready constructed  in  her  mind  a  little  Eden  to  which 
she  was  hastening.  She  saw  the  good  Mrs.  Strom 
busy  in  her  kitchen,  clad  in  a  cap  and  brown  jacket, 
and  she  saw  herself  feeding  the  doves  and  tending  the 
flowers  in  the  little  garden  of  Almvik.  Holmer 
laughed  heartily  when  she  drew  a  picture  for  him  of 
her  coming  home,  at  the  same  time  rejoicing  inwardly 
to  see  her  melancholy  dispelled  by  brighter  pictures. 

Let  hope  throw  its  veil  over  memory's  grave. 

We  will  return  to  Isabella  further  on  in  our  narra- 
tive. We  have  to  say  now  simply  that  her  new  home 
was  all  that  her  fancy  had  pictured.  In  it  she  found 
a  heart  that  soon  beat  in  warm  love  for  her;  a  motherly 
friend  who  opened  her  arms  to  her  and  to  whom  she 
confided  all  her  sorrows.  We  leave  her  thus.  We  must 
follow  the  turbulent  young  man  who  is  rushing  through 
the  world  with  his  hate,  his  bitterness  toward  man- 
feelings  which  are  only  held  in  restraint  by  a  passion 
that  cannot  die  out  of  him,  a  passion  for  the  beautiful. 


CHAPTER  VII 

HELENA  AGAIN 

A  few  days  before  the  death  of  Isabella,  Maurits 
had  received  a  sum  of  money  from  Eberhard  sufficient 
to  cover  the  expense  of  his  contemplated  journey. 
There  were  now  no  ties  to  hold  him  longer  to  the  land 
of  his  birth.  He  felt  more  than  ever  that  he  was  alone 
in  the  world,  and  he  was  not  at  all  inclined  to  form 
new  connections,  for  to  him  the  day  of  illusions  was 
past.  He  had  experienced  enough  of  the  pains  of 
deception,  wherefore,  he  built  for  himself  a  world  all 
his  own,  into  which  he  retired,  seeking  there  consola- 
tion for  the  terrible  blows  that  fate  had  rained  upon 
him.  This  world  was  neither  sensual  in  its  coarser 
sense,  nor  religious  in  its  Christian  significance.  It 
was  purely  ethereal,  if  we  may  use  the  term.  Yes,  for 
Maurits  scorned  the  vulgar  pleasures  of  sensuality, 
while  he  also  rejected  the  consolations  of  religion 
The  only  thing  of  beauty  recognized  by  him,  the  only 
enjoyment  to  which  he  could  flee,  not  to  help  him 
forget,  for  that  he  could  never  do,  but  to  quell  his 
pain  for  an  instant,  was  not  to  be  found  on  earth, 
niether  in  heaven,  but  upon  the  border  of,  or  between 
the  two.  It  was  neither  reality  nor  religion,  neither 
the  pure  realistic  nor  the  pure  spiritual.  It  partook  of 
each — it  was  poetry.  The  land  of  his  birth  burned 
Maurits'  feet.  He  had  suffered  so  much,  and  here  he 
failed  to-  find  the  sought-for  alleviation  of  sorrow. 

678 


HELENA    AGAIN  679 

Everything  was  so  cold,  so  misty,  so  lifeless.  No, 
under  the  myrtles  of  Italy  he  would  seek  the  longed 
for  repose,  feel  the  winds  of  Hesperia  fan  his  fevered 
cheeks.  He  longed  to  visit  that  land,  the  land  of  the 
beautiful,  the  home  of  modern  art,  the  fatherland  of 
the  school  of  romance,  and  Hellas,  the  cradle  of  the 
classical  school.  There,  as  did  Niconda,  he  would 
write,  dream  and  sing.  There  he  would  seek  develop- 
ment of  his  taste  for  art  and,  at  the  least,  drown  his 
sorrows  for  a  time. 

We  cannot  accompany   him    in    all  his  wanderings. 

We  will  delay  only  on  his  journey,  which  extended 
over  several  years,  to  describe  a  few  episodes  which 
bear  a  relation  to  the  whole  of  our  narrative. 

Maurits,  now  little  inclined  to  companionship  with 
his  fellows,  had  set  out  on  his  travels  alone. 

He  had  arrived  at  an  inn  in  Southern  Sweden.  It 
was  evening  and  rainy,  wherefore  he  determined  to 
remain  over  night.  When  the  maid  came  in  to  make 
the  bed,  Maurits  gave  instructions  that  a  horse  be 
ready  for  him  at  five  in  the  morning. 

"O,  indeed!  Why,  I  thought  the  gentleman  had 
come  to  attend  the  play,"  said  the  girl. 

"What  is  the  play?" 

"O!  the  actors  are  from  Stockholm!  But  if  you 
wish  it  I  will  bring  you  a  hand-bill." 

"Do  so,  my  girl.  Perhaps  it  will  be  worth  my  while 
to  remain  over  to  see  it." 

The  girl  departed,  returning  soon  with  the  play- 
bill 

The  announcement  was  over  the  names  of  three  of 
the  most  prominent  artists  of  the  royal  theater,  Mr. 
X —  and  wife  and  Helena  Roos.  Ihe  bill  announced, 
among  other  attractions,  scenes  from  the  play  of  "The 
Amber  Heart,"  by  Maurits  Sterner. 


680  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Ha!"  muttered  the  young  man  to  himself,  "she  is 
then  here,  she  who  is  the  cause  of  my  pain,  for  it  was 
to  avenge  his  daughter's  downfall  that  Jacob  Kron 
drove  Isabella  to  destruction.  I  must  see  her.  1  must 
crush  her  with  the  might  of  my  contempt,  my  hate!" 
he  continued  wildly.  "She  will  not  charm  the  popu 
lace  hete  to-morrow  with  her  exquisite  talent,  that  I 
promise." 

The  maid,  who  had  been  absent  a  few  minutes,  now 
returned. 

"Do  you  know  where  these  actors  are  quartered?  " 
asked  Maurits. 

"Yes,  certainly.  Two  of  them  are  at  Squire  Wenn- 
berg's,  but  the  other  lad)-  has  a  room  here.  The}^ 
are  to 'remain  a  few  days  only,  when  they  go  to  Goth- 
enburg. I  don't  know  which  of  the  ladies  it  is  who 
is  here,  but  her  room  is  just  across  the  hall." 

"Go  to  her,  and  tell  her  that  a  gentleman  wishes  to 
meet  her. " 

The  girl  went,  Maurits  following  her  out  into  the 
large  room  that  lay  between  his  and  that  occupied 
by  the  young  artiste. 

"Well,  what  answer?" 

"She  said  she  could  not  receive  gentlemen  at  this 
hour." 

"Is  she  alone?" 

"Yes." 

"She  has  not  gone  to  rest  yet?" 

"No,  she  was  sitting  at  a  table,   reading." 

Maurits  did  not  answer,  but  went  to  Helena's  door, 
turned  the  knob  and  entered. 

The  actress,  attired  in  an  elegant  dressing-gown, 
was  seated  at  a  table,  reading.  Her  back  being  turned 
toward  the  door,  and  supposing  the  intruder  to  be  the 


HELENA    AGAIN  68l 

maid,  she  did  not  take  the  pains  to  lift  her  eyes  from 
the  book. 

Maurits  paused  upon  reaching  the  middle  of  the 
room,  and  stood  some  time  without  movement,  con- 
templating Helena's  beautiful  profile,  half  hidden  by 
her  luxuriant  hair.  She  turned  around  finally  and 
recognized  him.  With  a  cry,  she  sprang  from  her 
chair.  The  colors  of  the  rose  and  lily  chased  each 
other  by  turns  across  her  cheeks,  and  it  was  some 
minutes  before  she  could  compose  herself  sufficiently 
to  utter  a  word.  Silently,  she  regarded  the  tall,  dark 
figure  standing  before  her,  whose  eyes  seemed  to  pierce 
her  through  and  through  with  their  stern  and  threat- 
ening glance. 

"Mr.  Sterner!"  she  stammered  at  last,  "this  meet- 
ing—" 

'This  meeting,  Helena,"  interrupted  Maurits,  seat- 
ing himself,  while  Helena  remained  standing,  leaning 
against  the  table,  "this  meeting  reminds  you  of  a  time 
long  gone  by;  a  time  when  you  were  yet  pure  and  in- 
nocent; when  you  could  see  rue  without  blushing. 
Those  were  days  when  I  was  ignorant  of  the  ways  of 
the  world  ;  days  when  I  believed  in  the  power  of  in- 
nocence, and  in  a  God  who  protected  it;  when  in  you 
I  saw  a  promising  ornament,  not  alone  to  the  world 
of  art,  but  to  your  sex;  days  when  I  deluded  myself 
with  the  false  hope  that  you  would  some  day  become 
what  I  intended  you  should,  wedded  to  your  profes- 
sion without  a  blemish.  But  many  contrary  winds 
have  blown  since  then,  and  you  now  stand  in  my  pres- 
ence a  fallen  woman,  your  head  bowed  in  shame." 

"O,  my  God,  you  are  cruel,  Maurits!  "  said  Helena 
with  agitated  voice. 

"If  I    am    cruel,     Helena,     it    comes     of  my    having 


682  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

suffered  greatly,  and  you  are  the    cause    of  all  the  un- 
happiness  of  my  young  manhood.  " 

"I!  '  cried  she.  "It  is  true,  then,  that  you  loved 
me!" 

"No,  not  with  the  love  you  mean.  I  loved  you  as  a 
brother;  and  you  rewarded  my  love  with  ingratitude, 
you  deceived  me  shamefully  when  you  threw  yourself 
into  the  arms  of  the  wretch  who  misled  you." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Helena,  struggling  with  her  feel- 
ings, "if  you  did  not  love  me,  how  have  I  been  the 
cause  of  your  misfortunes?  Men  do  not  allow  them- 
selves to  be  seriously  disturbed  by  the  faults  of  their 
sisters." 

"Neither  did  I,  and  I  forgot  you.  But  it  was  written 
in  the  book  of  fate  that  you  should  bring  curses  upon 
me,  should  plunge  me  into  depths  of  miser)'  of  which 
you  can  have  no  comprehension." 

"Explain  yourself!"  said  the  young  woman  in  sur- 
prise. 

"Yes,  I  will  explain!  "  cried  Maurits  vehemently; 
"and  if  within  you  it  is  possible  to  rouse  the  slightest 
feeling  of  regret  my  explanation  will  play  sad  havoc 
with  your  heart.  But  tell  me  first,  does  your  mother 
live?" 

"No,  she  died  a  few  months  ago." 

"And  she  revealed  nothing  to  you  before  she  died; 
nothing  about  her  former  life,  of  your  father?" 

"No,  she  maintained  persistent  silence  on  the  sub- 
ject. During  her  last  hours,  she  seemed  disposed  to 
confide  something  to  me,  but  death  took  her  before  she 
could  do  so. " 

"Maybe  she  did  not  herself  know  what  I  am  about 
to  tell  you,  Helena." 

"What  is  it?      You  frighten    me." 


HELENA    AGAIN  683 

"It  is  only  an  act  in  the  great  drama  continually  on 
in  the  world's  theater,  whose  title  is  the  play  of  fate." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Do  you  know  who  your  father  was,   Helena? " 

"No,  I  have  told  you." 

"Then  I  can  enlighten  you  on  the  subject,"  said 
Maurits,  enjoying  with  grim  pleasure  her  discomfort. 

"Your  father  was  at  first,  as  I  know  of  him, a  school- 
boy, later  a  beggar,  then  a  thief  and  finally  a  murder- 
er. His  time  was  divided  between  plodding  the  high- 
ways and  working  out  sentences  in  prison.  He  was  a 
man  of  many  experiences,  your  father.  But  what  I 
most  marvel  at  is  that  his  life  was  not  cut  short  long 
ago  on  the  scaffold,  or  ended  filling  a  life  sentence  in 
prison." 

At  these  heartless  words  Helena  staggered,  and 
sank  shuddering  into  the  chair  from  which  she  had 
risen  a  shoit  time  before. 

'You  are  cruel,  Maurits,  very  cruel!  Have  you  any- 
thing more  to  say?" 

"Yes,  you  have  not  yet  heard  all!"  continued  the 
young  man  with  wild  triumph.  "There  is  much  remain- 
ing to  be  told.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  your  father 
once,  soon  after  he  married  your  mother,  settled  down 
upon  a  little  estate  he  had  inherited,  where  he  lived 
quietly  and  happily  for  a  time.  He  has  himself  told 
me  that  during  that  short  period  his  life  was  a  most 
happy  one.  He  loved  his  beautiful  young  wife  fer- 
vently. One  evening  he  returned  from  a  journey  sooner 
than  expected  by  her.  Upon  looking  through  the 
window,  he  saw  her  in  the  embrace  of  another." 

"Mercy!"  cried  Helena.  "O  Maurits,  you  crush 
me  with  your  cruel  words!  " 

"And  do  you  know  who  your  mother's  seducer  was, 
Helena?"  resumed  Maurits. 


684  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Helena  made  no  answer. 

"I  will  tell  you.      His  name  was    Axel  Ehrenstam." 

As  if  struck  to  the  heart  with  a  dagger,  the  young 
woman  started  at  mention  of  the  name,  but,  mastering 
her  emotion,  resumed  her  former  position. 

"Yes,"  continued  Maurits,  who  at  this  minute  seemed 
to  be  possessed  by  demons,  "his  name  was  Axel 
Ehrenstam,  and  he  was  the  elder  brother  of  George. 
The  one  debauched  the  mother,  the  other  became  the 
daughter's  lover.  Is  that  not  strange,  very  strange?" 

Helena  lifted  her  deathly  pale  face  from  her  hands 
where  she  had  hidden  it,  and  regarded  Maurits  with  a 
look  of  amazement — a  look  in  which  there  was  almost 
nothing  of  the  human  left. 

"Impossible!"  she  cried,  almost  beside  herself;  "you 
jest,  and  your  jests  are  cruel!  It  can't  be  so!" 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  Maurits  ironically.  "Poor 
child!  And  yet  you  have  not  heard  all." 

"If  you  have  yet  more  poison  in  store,  give  it  to 
me  all  at  once." 

"No,  you  must  take  it  in  drops! '  shrieked  Maurits, 
stamping  the  floor  wildly.  "Your  appeals  to  my  sym- 
pathy will  not  avail  you!  I  know  no  such  feeling!" 

"Quick,  then! "  murmured  Helena,  "I  am  listening." 

"Well,  Axel  Ehrenstam,  your  mother's  seducer,  was 
fallen  upon  some  time  later  in  a  forest  and  murdered. 
Have  you  any  idea  who  the  murderer  could  have 
been?" 

Helena  trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf. 

"It  was  your  father!"  shrieked  Maurits. 

"Have  you  finished?"  asked  Helena,  who  was  on  the 
point  of  fainting. 

"No,  not  yet!"  cried  he,  springing  up  and  grasping 
her  by  the  arm;  "the  worst  is  to  come,  saved  for  the 


HELENA    AGAIN  685 

last.  Do  \'ou  know  that  your  father's  crime  was  no 
ordinary  one,  but  fratricide,  for  he  was  the  son  of  the 
same  man  as  Axel  and  George,  your  lover?  Wherefore 
you  have  been  your  uncle's  mistress,  Helena,  unfortu- 
nate girl!" 

"O,  my  God!"  wailed  Helena,  "has  he  no  sympathy! 
But  it  must  be  a  jest,  Maurits,  a  hideous  jest,"  and 
she  crept  to  his  feet  on  her  knees,  looking  pleadingly 
up  into  his  face. 

"Jest!"  cried  the  young  man  with  a  laugh  of  scorn; 
"did  you  ever  know  me  to  jest!  I  never  jest,  Helena. 
Every  word  is  true,  undeniably  true.  But  why  need 
you  care?  You  are  young,  beautiful,  an  accomplished 
actress.  The  bouquets  with  which  the  social  lions 
will  overwhelm  you  upon  your  next  appearance  will 
make  you  forget  it  all." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  she  rising.  "You  are  not 
the  man  I  thought  you,  you  are  a  wild  animal." 

"Quite  right,  I  am  a  wild  animal,  but  you  have 
made  me  so,  Helena."  . 

"How  are  you  concerned  in  these  horrible  family 
affairs  which  you  so  mercilessly  lay  bare  to  me?  What 
connection  have  they  with  your  fate?" 

"Be  seated,  Helena,"  resumed  Maurits,  whose  rage 
had  now  subsided;  "be  seated,  and  I  will  relate  your 
father's  history.  It  is  closely  connected  with  my 
own." 

Helena,  trembling,  took  a  seat. 

Maurits  began  now  to  relate  Jacob  Kron's  fate  and 
misfortunes.  His  whole  life  was  carefully  gone  over 
as  far  as  known  to  Maurits.  Not  the  most  insignifi- 
cant happening  was  missed.  His  own  love  for  Isa- 
bella Ehrenstam,  Jacob's  cruel  revenge,  and,  finally, 
Isabella's^death,  of  which  he  was  himself  a  witness. 


686  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"You  see,  Helena,  that  I  was  justified  in  saying 
that  you  are  the  cause  of  all  my  sufferings,  for,  if  your 
father  had  not  found  you  as  he  did,  the  mistress  of 
George  Ehrenstam,  he  would  not  have  been  possessed 
by  that  wild  hate  that  caused  him  to  crush  even  the 
innocent. " 

"Heavenly  Father!  My  poor  unhappy  parent!" 
sobbed  Helena,  completely  overcome,  "how  terribly 
he  has  suffered!" 

'And  I,  do  you  think  my  sufferings  nothing?" 

"Forgive  me,  Maurits, "  said  she  weakly,  "I  have 
been  ve*ry  wicked.  I  have  brought  misfortune  upon 
you,  you  who  were  my  friend,  my  benefactor.  But, 
God  knows,"  added  she  weeping,  "I  am  not  to  blame. 
I  have  always  loved  and  blessed  you,  Maurits.  From 
the  moment  when  I  met  your  glance  on  the  stage  in 
Stockholm,  after  the  first  presentation  of  your  play 
in  which  I  made  my  debut,  ignorant  of  the  dreadful 
relation  to  my  father's  history — from  that  moment, 
Maurits,  I  have  been  the  victim  of  the  keenest  remorse. 
The  mild,  reproving  look  with  which  you  regarded  me, 
pierced  my  soul  like  a  double-edged  sword.  Pleas- 
ures, diversions,  triumphs,  all  have  failed  to  blot  from 
my  memory  that  expression.  O!  believe  me!  Even 
I  have  suffered  much,  though  no  one  has  upbraided 
me  before.  And  now,  after  this  terrible  revelation, 
now  my  remorse  will  be  many  fold  greater,  my  pain 
unceasing,  and  you  will  be  avenged,  Maurits." 

"Helena,"  said  Maurits  grimly,  "we  are  both  unfort- 
unate, and  we  would  better,  therefore,  each  have 
some  consideration  for  the  other.  I  do  not  hate  you 
now,  Helena.  My  cruel  utterances  you  must  ascribe 
to  my  misanthropic  mood,  the  result  of  my  misfort- 
un  s.  And  why  should  I  hate  you?  Have  you  not 


HELENA    AGAIN  687 

been  a  blind  tool  in  the  hands  of  an  inexorable  fate? 
Have  you  voluntarily  and  premeditatedly  given  me  the 
deep  wound  from  which  my  life  blood  is  oozing?  No, 
Helena,  I  am  not  so  blind  that  I  cannot  see  so  far. 
You  are  at  heart  good,  you  have  only  been  led  astray, 
as  many  others  before  you,  by  the  power  of  lust,  by 
ambition,  by  earthly  pleasures.  The  destroyer  came 
and  breathed  poison  into  your  pure  mind  and  you  fell. 
What  more?  Thousands  of  others  have  fallen  in  the 
same  manner,  and  thousands  will  follow  you.  It  is 
the  law  of  the  universe;  who  can  change  a  syllable 
thereof?  " 

"You  do  not  hate  me,  then!"  exclaimed  Helena  ea- 
gerly, extending  her  hand  to  him.  "O,  I  know  that 
you  are  as  noble  as  ever!  I  see  your  former  self  now. 
You  are  again  Maurits  Sterner,  my  benefactor,  my 
teacher." 

"No,  Helena,  I  am  not  as  I  was,  and  can  never  be 
again.  Yet  if  we  cannot  be  what  we  formerly  were, 
we  will  not  part  enemies,  nevertheless.  Fate  has  laid 
her  iron  hand  between  us,  but  why  should  we  arraign 
each  other?" 

"You  are  a  fatalist,  Maurits.  You  have  become  so 
since  I  saw  you  last." 

Maurits  did  not  answer. 

"You  have  taught  me  a  terrible  lesson,  and  I  thank 
you  for  it.  The  medicine  was  bitter,  but  it  was 
healthful.  Before  long,  you  shall  learn  the  result. 
But  now,  good  night!" 

"Good  night,"  said  Maurits,  pressing  her  hand  gen- 
tly. "You  will  not  see  George  again?" 

"Never!  " 

"He  is  not  worthy  your  love,  and  remember— he  is 
your  father's  brother." 


688  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

He  opened  the  door  and  departed. 

When  he  had  gone,  Helena  sank  to  her  knees  by 
the  bedside,  buried  her  head  in  the  pillows  and  wept. 

Tears  unburdened  her  heart,  and  she  rose  with  a 
holy,  a  pure  resolution,  at  which  the  angels  rejoiced, 
if  it  be  true,  as  the  Scriptures  declare,  that  there  is 
rejoicing  in  heaven  over  a  sinner's  repentance. 

The  next  day,  the  following  announcement  was  made 
to  the  public: 

"The  play  advertised  to  be  produced  to-day,  is 
postponed  on  account  of  the  illness  of  the  leading 
lady,  Miss  Roos. " 

The  good  citizens,  who  had  anticipated  an  evening 
of  rare  pleasure,  drew  long  faces,  and  Helena  left  the 
place  in  a  few  days  without  having  produced  the  much 
looked-for  play. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ROUGE-ET-NOIR 

On  a  street  in  one  of  the  obscure  quarters  of  Paris 
one  evening  early  in  the  year  18— ,  stood  a  young 
man,  wrapped  in  a  cloak,  staring  intently  up  to  the 
brilliantly  lighted  windows  in  the  second  story  of  one 
of  the  principal  houses  in  the  neighborhood. 

The  young  man,  whose  features  were  shaded  by  the 
upturned  collar  of  his  cloak,  seemed  to  be  hesitating 
whether  or  not  to  enter  the  house,  for  he  was  seen  a 
one  moment  to  pause,  then  to  pace  back  and  forth 
past  the  entrance,  even  to  place  his  foot  upon  the 
first  step  of  the  stairs,  then  withdrew  it  as  if  he  had 
thought  better  of  it. 

During  these  moments  of  irresolution,  a  second  per- 
son, unobserved,  had  approached  the  spot  where  he 
stood. 

This  person,  also  a  young  man,  cast  a  passing 
glance  at  the  other  in  which  he  seemed  to  recognize 
him,  for  he  halted  and  placed  a  hand  upon  his  shoul- 
der. 

The  young  man  turned  quickly  around. 

"Ah!  Is  it  you,  Mr.  Sterner!  Where  are  you  going 
at  this  hour?" 

"I  have  just  come  from  the  theater,  and  am  on  my 
way  home,"  said  Maurits.  "I  paused  to  ask  that  you 
accompany  me,  your  home  being  in  the  same  direction. 

08!) 


6gO  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

But  what  are  you  doing  here,  and    what    character  of 
house  is  this?" 

"It  is  a  gambling  house,"  answered  the  young  man, 
"and  I  have  been  pondering  whether  or  not  I  should 
go  up.  Will  you  go  with  me?" 

"No,  I  never  play." 

"Neither  do  I,  but  I  am  very  curious  to  see  how  it 
goes.  This  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  principal  estab- 
lishments of  the  kind  in  Paris." 

"Let  it  go,"  said  Maurits.  "Here  comes  a  cab,  we 
will  take  it  and  go  home. " 

"No,  no,  I  must  go  up  there  a  little  while." 

"Be  careful,  I  know  you.  You  will  be  unable  to 
withstand  the  temptation  to  try  your  luck,  and  your 
money,  whatever  you  have,  will  soon  be  gone." 

"Heaven  forbid!"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  "for  I 
have  thirty  thousand  francs  in  my  pocket,  the  entire 
fortune  of  my  mother  and  sister." 

"How  do  you  happen  to  have  so  much  money  upon 
you?" 

"Nothing  simpler.  We  have  sold  our  little  property 
in  Brittany,  and  I  am  just  come  from  a  notary  with 
whom  I  completed  the  transfer,  and  from  whom  I  have 
received  the  money  therefor." 

"More  reason,  then,  why  you  should  not  venture  up 
there.  Think  of  your  mother  and  sister  who  love  you 
so  dearly.  It  was  wholly  on  your  account  that  they 
left  their  little  home  in  Brittany  and  came  here  that 
they  might  be  near  you,  and  witness  your  progress  in 
the  profession  you  have  chosen.  How  about  your  new 
painting?  " 

"I  have  sold  it  to  the  marquis  on  Rue  de  Temple 
for  five  hundred  francs.  I  have  that  money  with  me 
also." 


ROUGE-ET-NOIR  691 

"Well,  you  possess  an  easy  and  pleasant  means  of 
gaining  a  livelihood.  Do  not  now  foolishly  put  your 
very  existence  in  jeopardy  by  placing  yourself  in  the 
way  of  this  temptation.  What  would  be  the  conse- 
quence were  you  to  lose  the  little  capital  belonging 
to  your  mother  and  sister?" 

"Great  Caesar!  You  can't  seriously  think  me  such 
an  idiot  as  that!  If  I  play,  it  will  be  with  my  own 
money  only.  I  confess  to  you  that  I  am  eager  to  add 
a  few  thousand  francs  to  the  sum  received  for  my  pict- 
ure. " 

"Are  you  then,  so  covetous?  I  thought  otherwise. 
You  are  an  artist." 

"Yes,  but  you  know  how  dearly  I  love  Hortense.  Is 
it  to  be  wondered  at  that  I  wish  to  be  rich?" 

"Certainly  not,  Charles,  but  you  cannot  gratify  your 
desire  up  there  in  that  brilliantly  lighted  den  of  rob- 
bers. Take  my  advice,  and  be  careful." 

"Good  night,  Mr.  Sterner,"  said  the  young  artist  res- 
olutely, "I  am  going  up.  If  you  had  ever  loved  as  I 
do,  you  could  understand  me." 

"If  I  had  ever  loved!"  exclaimed  Maurits,  smiling 
bitterly. 

"Yes,  but  you  have  not.  You  are  not  a  southerner. 
You  are  from  the  icy  north  where  the  warmest  feelings 
must  freeze;  from  the  land  of  bears,  where  men  fell 
trees  the  year  around,  and  where  there  are  no  other 
flowers  than  such  as  are  grown  in  your  windows.  Your 
nature  is  icy  even,  and  you  do  not  understand  the 
children  of  the  south.  You  presume  to  advise  us. 
But  I  am  going  up  there  to  win  a  hundred  thousand 
francs,  then  marry  Hortense,"  with  he  sprang 
hurriedly  up  the  stairs. 

"I  will  accompany  you,  then,  into  this  nest    of  wild 


692  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

beasts,"  said  Maurits.  "I  am  not  wont  to  trouble  my- 
self about  my  fellows  but  you  interest  me  against  my 
will.  You  mean  to  play,  then?" 

"Yes,  I  will  try  my  luck." 

"A  word  first,"  said  Maurits,  pausing.  "Leave  in 
my  keeping  the  thirty  thousand  francs  that  belong  to 
your  mother  and  sister.  Quick,  before  you  enter." 

"Why  so?" 

"In  order  that  you  may  not  risk  them  at  the  table." 

"You  are  crazy!  "  laughed  the  artist.  "Do  you  think 
I  will  touch  them?" 

Maurits  said  no  more,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they 
were  in  the  gambling  room.  Everything  here  was 
magnificent,  beautiful.  Servants  in  livery  richly 
trimmed  with  gold  lace  met  them,  and  took  their  outer 
garments,  while  others  brought  tempting  refreshments. 
The  room  was  rich  in  silk  and  crystal,  and  in  one 
corner  thereof  was  heard  the  rustle  of  bank-notes, 
and  the  jingle  of  gold  pieces.  The  new  comers  ap- 
proached this  alluring  corner,  where  the  wheel  of 
fortune  went  round,  and  the  capricious  goddess  deluded 
and  destroyed  her  devotees.  The  game  was  rouge-et- 
noir,  that  hell-born  game  that  has  plunged  many  fam- 
ilies into  misery;  that  has,  in  a  single  night,  brought 
so  many  men  from  opulence  to  beggary;  the  game 
that  has  been  the  cause  of  so  many  tears,  so  much 
bloodshed,  so  many  curses. 

With  searching  eyes,  Maurits  scanned  the  people 
gathered  around  the  green-covered  table.  The  first 
to  attract  his  attention  was  the  banker  himself  and  his 
companion  and  faithful  attendant,  who  was  paying 
out  losses  and  raking  in  the  winnings.  The  man  ap- 
peared to  be  about  fifty  years  old,  below  medium 
stature,  but  very  muscular  and  with  features  almost 


ROUGE-ET-NOIR  693 

as  dark  as  those  of  an  Italian.  The  lines  of  the  face 
were  not  unpleasing,  but  the  prematurely  gray  hair 
and  the  wrinkled  forehead  seemed  to  indicate  that  his 
soul  for  many  years  had  been  the  sporting  place  cf 
unrestrained  passions,  and  his  small  gray  eyes  resem- 
bled a  viper's,  when  they  rested  on  the  piles  of  gold 
and  bank  notes  that  were  spread  out  on  the  table. 

The  woman  who  stood  beside  him,  a  little  silver 
ladle  in  her  hand,  his  wife,  Maurits  presumed,  showed 
traces  of  an  unusual  beauty  though  her  face  was  marked 
with  the  wrinkles  of  time.  She  appeared  to  be  about 
forty,  with  hair  and  eyes  black  as  ebony,  the  latter, 
however,  much  sunken,  and  her  pale  cheeks  very  thin. 
The  hands  and  arms  had  retained  their  plumpness  and 
beauty,  and  her  figure  an  elegance  seldom  found  in 
one  at  her  years.  Her  attire  was  rich,  and  her  fingers 
and  arms  glittered  with  jewels.  She  wore  no  covering 
on  her  head,  but  displayed  her  marvelously  beautiful 
hair  entirely  devoid  of  cover  or  ornament. 

After  carefully  measuring  the  principal  figures  in 
the  picture,  Maurits  occupied  himself  with  studying 
the  others  of  the  gathering. 

Their  features  evinced  a  feverish  interest  in  what 
was  going  on  before  them,  while  they  awaited  the 
decisive  utterances  of  the  banker — "Red  wins,  black 
loses,"  or  the  reverse. 

Here  stood  a  deathly  pale  youth,  his  hand  upon 
his  forehead  on  which  the  cold  sweat  of  anguish  stood 
in  great  drops,  for  he  had  just  ventured  his  last  louis 
d'or  upon  a  single  card;  there  stood  the  father  of  a 
family,  his  eyes  wildly  watching  how  deftly  the  little 
silver  ladle  swept  away  his  last  gold  piece,  a  sum  with 
which  he  could  have  supported  his  wife  and  children 
for  many  months,  by  his  side  stood  two  others.  They 


694  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

smiled  fiendishly,  and  their  eyes  sparkled,  for  the  gold 
heaps  before  them  were  growing.  With  every  loss  of 
the  others,  they  were  winning. 

Mauri ts  contemplated  the  scene  for  some  time  with 
loathing. 

"Come,"  said  he  finally,  grasping  his  companion's 
arm,  "come,  let  us  go.  I  am  disgusted  with  this 
spectacle  of  passion  running  riot.  They  are  no  longer 
men,  they  are  devils.  The  most  destructive  egoism 
is  here  working  out  its  hellish  art." 

But  the  young  painter  did  not  move.  His  eyes  were 
fixed  greedily  on  the  bundles  of  bank-notes  and  the 
piles  of  gold,  so  temptingly  displayed  upon  the  table 
before  him.  At  last,  he  drew  himself  loose  from  Mau- 
rits  and  rushed  forward. 

Maurits  shrugged  his  shoulders,  approaching  the 
table  a  little  later,  and  placed  himself  back  of  his  ex- 
cited companion.  It  was  clear  that  the  latter  was  a 
novice  at  the  game.  His  hand  trembled  and  his  lips 
quivered  when  he  placed  the  first  piece  of  gold  upon  a 
card.  An  inner  horror  seemed  to  be  struggling  with 
the  gambling  passion,  but  the  piles  of  money  beckoned 
him  irresistibly  on. 

The  young  man  played  wildly,  and  a  wild  player 
is  usually  a  loser.  One  piece  of  gold  after  the  other> 
one  bank-note  after  the  other,  found  its  way  from  his 
pocket  to  increase  the  treasury  of  the  banker.  In  a 
few  minutes,  the  five  hundred  francs  he  had  received 
for  his  painting  were  gone.  Maurits  drew  nearer  when 
he  saw  the  young  man  take  from  his  breast-pocket  a 
large  roll  ot  bank-notes  and  nervously  break  the  string 
that  bound  them. 

"Think  of  your  mother!"  whispered  Maurits  in  his 
ear. 


HELENA    AGAIN  695 

At  this  instant,  an  Englishman  stepped  proudly 
forward,  and  inquired  in  broken  French: 

"How  large  is  the  bank  this  evening?" 

"Six  hundred  thousand  francs,  my  lord,"  returned 
the  banker,  bowing  politely. 

The  Englishman  placed  himself  by  the  side  of  the 
artist,  emptied  a  large  pile  of  gold  from  his  purse, 
and  placed  the  whole  sum  upon  a  single  card. 

"Think  of  your  mother!  "repeated  Maurits,  grasping 
the  artist  by  the  arm.  _  But  he  heard  not.  There  was 
a  humming  in  his  ears,  a  violent  beating  in  his  tem- 
ples. The  color  of  his  handsome  face  changed  re- 
pea  tedly.  Scarcely  knowing  what  he  did,  he  threw  a 
thousand  franc  bank-note  upon  the  table.  It  fell 
upon  a  red  card,  and  the  artist  allowed  it  to  remain 
there.  A  death-like  silence  prevailed.  The  wheel  cir- 
cled round,  the  card  that  should  decide  him  a  winner 
or  a  loser  flew  from  the  urn.  It  was  black.  "Black 
wins,  rtd  loses, "  repeated  the  banker  in  a  monotonous 
tone.  The  young  man's  bank-note  was  swept  away 
in  a  twinkling. 

"He  is  beside  himself!  "  muttered  Maurits,  stepping 
back  a  few  paces.  "I  know  mankind.  He  would  not 
listen  now  if  even  his  mother  on  her  knees  should 
plead  with  him.  O,  this  wretched  thirst  for  gold!" 

The  play  continued.  The  young  artist  appeared  to 
be  under  the  influence  of  a  wild  fever  dream  from 
which  he  did  not  waken  until  he  saw  the  last  of  his 
thirty  thousand  francs  swept  up  by  the  banker's  ladle. 
Then  he  awoke,  and  turned  from  the  table.  He  was 
no  longer  like  a  human  being.  Pale  as  a  ghost,  with 
glaring  eyes  and  quivering  lips,  his  face  averted,  he 
rushed  toward  the  door.  But  he  was  stayed  by  a 
powerful  hand  that  caught  his  arm. 


THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Maurits. 

"Unhand  me!  Below  there  is  a  man  who  has  be- 
come rich  by  selling  pistols  to  unfortunate  players.  I 
have  yet  ten  francs,  I  require  no  more," 

"Remain  here!"  said  Maurits  in  commanding  tones. 
"Be  seated,  you  crazy  man,  and  do  not  move  from 
your  place!  I  will  save  you." 

'Save  me!" 

"Yes,  endeavor  to,  at  least.      Be  seated." 

He  compelled  him  to  take  a  seat. 

Neither  the  banker  nor  the  players  had  paid  an}'  at- 
tention to  this  scene.  They  were  accustomed  to  the 
like. 

Maurits  pressed  forward  to  the  table,  took  the  un- 
fortunate young  man's  place,  and  laid  a  five  franc 
piece  upon  a  black  card  It  won.  He  had  now  ten 
francs  on  the  table  which  he  allowed  to  remain.  Again 
and  again  he  won.  Ten  times  his  winnings  were  al- 
lowed to  remain  on  the  black  card  without  withdraw- 
ing so  much  as  a  sou,  and  ten  times  the  'black  card 
won,  giving  him  a  gain  of  nearly  ten  thousand  francs. 
The  other  players  had  observed  this  unusual  run  of 
luck  with  surprise,  and  the  eleventh  time  all  planted 
their  money  on  the  black. 

At  the  last  instant,  Maurits  moved  his  pile  of  gold 
from  the  black  to  the  red,  and  said  calmly,  "I'll  play 
red  this  time.  " 

The  wheel  revolved,  and  the  card  flew  out — it  was 
red. 

A  murmur  of  surprise  went  around  the  table.  The 
banker  paid  over  the  winnings,  and  Maurits  allowed 
ten  thousand  francs  to  remain  on  the  red.  The  other 
guests  ceased  to  play,  content  to  follow  attentively  the 
colossal  game.  Five  times  more  Maurits  placed  his 


HELENA  AGAIN  697 

many  times  doubled  winnings  on  the  red,  and  as  many 
times  won.  He  was  now  gainer  three  hundred  and 
twenty  thousand  francs.  The  banker  grew  pale  as  he 
counted  out  the  last  winnings.  His  lips  moved  con- 
vulsively, and  the  scornful  smile  that  had  all  along 
played  thereon  died  away,  though  he  maintained  his 
usual  calmness  of  manner. 

"Quit,  sir!"  whispered  the  Englishman  in  Maurits' 
ear;  "do  not  tempt  fortune  with  another  play,  she  is 
as  fickle  as  a  woman.  Such  a  run  of  luck  as  you  have 
had  this  evening  does  not  occur  once  in  a  hundred 
years. " 

"How  much  have  you  in  the  bank?"  asked  Maurits 
calmly,  turning  to  the  banker. 

"Two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs,"  answered 
the  latter  in  a  voice  trembling  with  apprehension. 

"Count  it  out,"  said  Maurits. 

The  banker  counted  out  the  sum  in  gold  and  bank- 
notes, and  laid  it  upon  the  table. 

Maurits  counted  seventy  thousand    francs    from  his 
winnings  and  calmly  deposited  it  in  his  pocket.    Thus 
the  two  sums  on   the  table  were  of    like  amounts. 
"Are  you  ready?"   asked  the  banker. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  Maurits,  moving  the  great 
heaps  of  gold  ever  to  the  black  card,  "I  will  play  black 
this  time." 

It  was  so  hushed  in  the  room  that  the  fall  of  a  pin 
might  have  been  heard. 

The  card  flew  out.      It  was  black. 

"The  bank  is  broken!"  cried  the  guests  in  chorus, 
while  Maurits,  not  so  much  as  changing  a  feature, 
drew  the  money  toward  him. 

At  this  instant,  the  ring  of  a  pistol  shot  was  heard. 
Blood  and  brains  were  spattered  over  the  table  and 


698  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

the  money  thereon.  The  banker  had  shot  himself  in 
the  forehead.  With  a  cry  of  anguish,  the  woman,  his 
companion,  fell  in  a  faint  to  the  floor  at  Maurits'  feet. 

While  the  others,  almost  dumb  with  horror,  sur- 
rounded the  corpse  of  the  banker,  Maurits  stooped 
over  the  insensible  woman,  and,  taking  her  by  the 
arm, was  about  to  lift  her  from  the  floor.  As  he  did  so, 
her  light  shawl  fell  off.  Maurits  caught  sight  of  her 
bared  shoulders,  at  which  he  started  as  if  stung  by  a 
serpent.  And  it  was  a  serpent  he  saw,  a  serpent 
twined  around  a  rose.  The  young  man  shuddered. 
Was  it  she,  was  it  Angela,  Eberhard's  former  mistress, 
his  sister? 

Covering  her  shoulders  hastily,  he  turned  to  one  of 
those  present,  and  inquired,  with  feigned  calmness: 
"Do  you  know  the  name  of  this  unfortunate?"  pointing 
to  the  banker,  whose  disfigured  face  was  grinning  hor- 
ribly at  him. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  person  addressed,  "his  name 
is  Crispin  at  present,  but  he  has  had  many  names  dur- 
ing his  adventuresome  life." 

"And  this  person?"  pointing  to  the  insensible  wo- 
man. 

"I  know  no  more  about  her  than  that  she  is  called 
Angela,  and  that  in  her  youth  she  was  a  renowned 
Italian  singer.  Through  her  love  for  Crispin,  she  has 
followed  him  everywhere,  and  since  she  ceased  to  be 
his  mistress,  they  have  been  companions  in  adventure 
and  fortune.  But  for  you,  sir,  it  would  have  gone 
well  with  them.  A  half  million  is  a  handsome  sum." 

Maurits  answered  nothing,  but  hastened  to  a  carafe, 
filled  it  with  water,  and  proceeded  to  lave  Angela's 
brow. 

Crispin's  body  was  carried    away.      The    guests  de- 


HELENA    AGAIN  699 

parted  quietly,  and  soon  there  were  none  in  the  room 
but  the  frightened  servants,  Maurits,  Angela,  and  the 
young  artist,  who  was  still  sitting  unmoved  where 
Maurits  had  placed  him. 

"Are  there  no  female  domestics  here  who  can  care 
for  this  woman?"  asked  Maurits. 

"Yes,  I  will  call  her  maid,"  answered  one  of  the 
servants. 

"Be  spry!  Summon  help!"  shouted  the  young  man. 
"Come  here,  Charles!  Why  are  you  sitting  there  star- 
ing in  that  manner?  Help  me  to  restore  this  woman 
to  consciousness." 

The  artist  approached.  Meantime,  Angela's  maid 
entered,  and  at  her  suggestion,  her  mistress  was  con. 
veyed  to  her  own  apartments  and  disrobed. 

Charles  and  Maurits  remained  in  the  room,  standing 
by  the  gambling  table. 

"You  have  won,"  said  the  former. 

"See  here,"  said  Maurits,  handing  him  a  number  of 
bank-notes,  "here  are  your  thirty  thousand  francs,  and 
one  hundred  thousand  more  for  you  and  Hortense. " 

The  young  artist  gazed  at  him  as  if  he  had  not 
heard  aright.  He  could  not  comprehend  such  a  shower 
of  good  fortune. 

"Well,  take  it,  why  don't  you!"  exclaimed  Maurits 
impatiently.  "It  is  you  I  must  thank  for  my  win- 
nings. " 

"O,  my  God!"  cried  the  young  Frenchman,  his  man- 
ner changed  from  deep  despair  to  overwhelming  joy; 
"my  noble  benefactor!  It  is  not  a  dream  then!  I  can 
marry  Hortense!"  He  took  the  notes  and  waved  them 
in  the  air,  jumping  and  dancing  like  one  mad. 

"But  this,"  said  Maurits,  pointing  to  the  money  re- 
maining on  the  table,  "what  shall  I  do  with  it?" 


7OO  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"O,  you  are  surely  strong  enough  to  carry  it  home." 

"Yes,  but  I  will  not  have  it.  It  is  blood  money,  and, 
moreover,  I  am  already  rich  enough.  I  have  not 
played  to  win  money  for  myself.  I  played  first  to 
help  you,  and,  second,  to  ruin,  if  possible,  one  of 
those  abominable  blood-suckers  who,  with  such  devil- 
ish contempt  for  all  things  human,  plunder  their  kind 
so  heartlessly,  j  have  succeeded.  The  robber  is  pun- 
ished, and  I  am  satisfied." 

"My  generous  friend,  how  shall  I   thank  you?" 

"By  promising  me  that  you  will  never  play  again." 

"I  promise.  This  horrible  night  will  never  be  for- 
gotten!" 

"Very  well.  Let  us  go  now,"  said  Maurits,  looking 
out  of  the  window,  "the  day  is  breaking." 

He  called  the  servants,  to  each  of  whom  he  gave  a 
thousand  francs.  "Leave  this  place,"  said  he,  "and 
seek  a  better  occupation  than  service  in  such  a  hell- 
hole. Farewell!" 

The  young  men  took  their  departure  as  soon  as 
Maurits  had  gathered  up  his  winnings,  followed  quite 
to  the  street  by  the  gratefully  bowing  servants. 

A  few  hours  later,  Maurits  engaged  a  cab,  and  set 
out  to  see  Angela. 

The  house  was  filled  with  grim  police  officers  and 
clamorous  creditors.  Attachments  had  been  placed 
on  the  furniture  in  behalf  of  the  latter,  and  the  serv- 
ants were  undergoing  an  examination  concerning 
Crispin's  suicide,  news  of  which  had  reached  the  pub- 
lic soon  after  its  occurrence. 

During  all  this,  Angela  lay  in  her  chamber  deathly 
ill,  and  wandering  in  her  mind.  Even  this  room  had 
been  invaded.  The  greedy  creditors  had  forced  an  en- 
trance thereto  for  the  purpose  of  learning  what  might 


HELENA    AGAIN  701 

be  found  that  could  be  converted  into  money  in  set- 
tlement of  their  claims. 

Maurits  disposed  of  these  greedy  guests  in  the  sim- 
plest manner  possible — he'  paid  their  bills.  After  which 
he  seated  himself  at  the  bedside  of  the  sick  woman, 
and  contemplated  her  silently. 

She  raved.  She  talked  of  gold,  of  jewels,  silks, 
pearls  and  blood.  Maurits  shuddered.  It  was  clear 
to  him  that  her  understanding  had  sustained  a  severe 
shock,  and  that  he  could  scarcely  get  a  rational  word 
from  her. 

The  doctor  came,  and  shook  his  head. 

"Fifty  thousand  francs  if  you  restore  this  woman  to 
health,"  said  Maurits. 

"Why  are  you  so  much  interested  in  her?"  inquired 
the  doctor;  "is  she  a  relative?" 

"Not  that,"  answered  Maurits,  "but  her  death  would 
burn  my  conscience." 

"Why  so?" 

"Because  it  was  I  who  broke  the  bank,  wherefore 
the  banker  broke  his  skull  with  a  pistol  shot." 

The  doctor  shrugged  his   shoulders. 

"Your  sympathy  is  misplaced,  it  seems  to  me,  as 
also  your  qualms  of  conscience.  She  deserves  her  fate. 
She  is  an  adventuress  of  the  most  doubtful  character. 
I  will  do  all  I  can,  nevertheless,  to  save  her  life.  It 
is  hardly  probable,  however,  that  I  can  save  her  rea- 
son. " 

But  all  was  in  vain.  Maurits  watched  by  the  side 
of  the  unfortunate  woman  with  never  diminishing  care. 
People  laughed  at  the  mad  Swede  for  concerning  him- 
self so  much  about  an  adventuress,  but  what  cared 
Maurits  for  this?  To  him  was  given  the  consolation 
of  closing  the  eyes  of  the  dying  woman,  and  Angela 


702  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

went  to  her  eternal  rest  in    the    arms  of    her  unknown 
brother. 

"Sleep!"  said  Maurits.  "God  is  just!  He  will  not 
condemn  you  for  a  crime  in  which  you  have  been  only 
an  instrument  in  the  hands  of  your  villainous  master. 
Sleep,  Angela.  The  serpent  has  long  ago  poisoned  the 
flower.  Even  it  is  dead  now  Its  head  is  crushed." 

Even  fate  seems  to  amuse  itself  sometimes  with  an 
act  of  justice. 

Maurits  bent  over  and  pressed  a  kiss  upon  his  sis- 
ter's forehead,  then  covering  her  face  with  the  sheet, 
he  departed. 

Maurits  remained  yet  a  few  days  in  Paris,  partly  to 
be  present  at  Angela's  burial,  partly  to  dispose  of 
the  money  he  had  won,  which  he  was  determined  not 
to  retain. 

He  went  to  a  notary,  with  whom  he  deposited  the 
whole  sum,  leaving  instructions  that  it  be  employed 
to  relieve  the  sufferings  of  the  families  of  the  unfort- 
unates at  the  gaming-table. 

"It  is  my  wish,"  said  Maurits,  "that  the  interest  on 
this  money  be  employed  to  care  for  those  who  have 
lost  their  means  of  support  through  the  suicide  of  the 
head  of  the  family,  caused  by  losses  at  gambling." 

This  was  looked  upon  as  an  original  idea.  The 
story  was  soon  in  every  mouth  in  Paris,  and  it  was 
not  long  until  Maurits'  praises  were  sung  by  every 
journal  in  the  city. 

Maurits  was  soon  on  his  way  to  refresh  himself  with 
the  invigorating  air  and  exercise  to  be  found  in  a  foot 
journey  through  the  Alps.  "After  which,"  thought  he, 
"I  will  return  to  Sweden,  buy  me  an  estate  in  some 
attractive  quarter,  preferably  near  the  birth-place  of 
my  mother,  where  I  will  settle  down  and  live  quietly 
— live  for  art  and  science. " 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   ALPINE    MAIDEN 

One  of  the  numerous  small  and  pretty  valleys  in 
Eastern  Switzerland,  drained  by  the  river  Inn,  or  a 
feeder  thereof,  is  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  stupen- 
dous rock  masses,  while  on  the  fourth  there  is  a  pass 
of  considerable  width,  through  which  flows  a  mount- 
ain stream,  emptying  into  the  mother  river,  winding 
its  way  along  the  valley  of  Engacline. 

In  this  valley,  at  the  foot  of  the  rocks,  lies  a  little 
village,  and  a  short  distance  therefrom,  and  somewhat 
larger  than  the*  others,  stands  a  green  painted  house 
surrounded  by  a  neat  garden  and  a  vineyard. 

Upon  the  rocks  on  the  west  side  might  have  been 
seen,  one  summer  evening  in  the  year  of  the  occur- 
rences related  in  the  last  chapter,  a  young  man  plod- 
ding along  with  a  knapsack  on  his  back.  He  ap- 
peared to  be  much  fatigued,  and  clambered  slowly 
down  the  cliffs,  casting  longing  glances  at  the  little 
hamlet  in  the  valley  where  he  hoped  to  find  lodgings 
with  some  one  of  the  simple  and  hospitable  cottagers. 
This  young  man  was  Maurits.  He  had  walked  through 
Switzerland  to  this  from  Juraberg  over  St.  Gothard 
and  the  Rhetian  Alps.  He  was  now  on  his  way  to 
Tyrol,  thence  his  course  lay  through  the  valley  of  the 
Danube  to  Vienna,  which  city  he  had  not  yet  visited. 

Maurits  at  length  seated  himself  upon  a  rock  and 
Contemplated  the  picture  spread  out  at  his  feet. 

703 


704  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

The  herders  were  driving  their  flocks  homeward, 
their  melodious  lays  accompanied  by  the  merry  tinkle 
•of  the  many  bells.  The  church  hell  in  the  little  ham- 
let chimed  the  hours  of  the  closing  day,  and  the  tillers 
of  the  soil  with  sweaty  brows  were  returning  from 
their  vineyards  or  cornfields  to  the  good  cheer  and 
.repose  that  awaited  them  in  their  simple  cottage 
homes  after  the  day's  toil. 

"Happy  mortals!"  said  Maurits  softly.  "And  why? 
Because  they  are  nature's  children,  soothed  to  sleep 
•by  nature's  lullaby,  and  roused  in  the  morning  by  her 
fresh  breezes.  The  pestilential  atmosphere  of  the  city 
has  not  reached  them.  They  do  not  know,  even  by 
name,  the  vices,  the  crimes  of  the  world,  that  flood 
it  with  curses.  The  mountains  shield  them  even 
against  the  storms  that  agitate  the  heart  and  set  aflame 
the  slumbering  passions  thereof.  If  I  should  settle 
down  here  and  live  among  them,  I  coirid,  it  may  be, 
gather  from  the  bosom  of  the  earth  a  balsam  for  my 
wounds  not  yet  healed." 

A  loud  shout  from  the  bottom  of  the  cliff  inter- 
rupted Maurits'  monologue,  and  drew  his  attention 
thitherward. 

He  saw  a  young  girl  pursuing  a  white  goat,  which, 
sprang  in  advance  from  rock  to  rock,  closely  pursued 
by  her  with  almost  equal  agility. 

The  little  miss  was  as  beautiful  as  the  first  rays  of 
the  morning  sun.  Her  light  brown  locks,  ornamented 
with  a  garland  of  wild  Alpine  roses,  gathered  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountain,  floated  around  her  shoulders 
like  a  light  summer  cloud.  Her  eyes  were  like  the 
sky  of  day  when  no  cloud  conceals  its  bright  azure, 
her  cheeks  were  colored  a  fresh  red,  indicating  health, 
happiness  and  innocence,  and  her  form  possessed  the 


suppleness,  the  grace,  unknown  to  the  parlor  orna- 
ments of  the  city. 

She  was  an  Alpine  rose  of  the  rarest  beauty  and 
freshest  color,  reared  among  the  mountains. 

The  goat  sprang  to  the  rock  on  which  Maurits  was 
seated,  and  was  easily  caught  by  the  horns  and  com- 
pelled to  lie  down  at  his  feet.  In  the  next  instant, 
the  girl  was  at  his  side. 

"Thank  you,"  said  she  with  a  kindly  smile.  "That 
naughty  Belinda  ran  away  from  me.  She  never  did 
so  before,  but  she  became  frightened  at  a  stone  that 
fell  down  near  her.  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  catch 
her.  Fie,  Belinda!  To  run  away  in  such  a  manner!" 

"Is  your  goat  called  Belinda?"  inquired  Maurits. 
"It  is  a  pretty  name." 

"Yes.  I  have  reared  her  since  a  little  kid,  and  I 
know  she  loves  me  though  she  was  just  now  frightened 
dreadfully." 

'But  you  yourself  must  have  a  much  prettier  name. " 
said  Maurits. 

"I  am  called  Marita,  but  I  do  not  like  the  name, 
It  is  very  ugly.  But  what  is  your  name?" 

"Maurits. " 

"Very  pretty,"  cried  the  girl,  clapping  her  hands; 
"but  I  have  not  seen  you  before." 

"Quite  natural,"  said  Maurits  laughing,  "I  am  a 
stranger  here." 

"You  are  from  the  beautiful  country  beyond  the 
mountains,  perhaps,  cf  which  I  have  heard  my  father 
speak." 

"Do  you  mean  Italy?" 

"Yes." 

"No,  I  am  from  a  distant  northern  land  whose  name, 
I  dare  say,  you  have  never  heard." 


706  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

This  conversation  had  been  carried  on  in  German, 
which  language  Maurits  spoke  with  almost  the  native 
accent. 

"Another  land!"  cried  the  girl;  "do  you  think  I 
know  nothing  of  Norway,  Sweden  and  Denmark!  Are 
you  from  cne  of  these!" 

"Yes,"  said  Maurits,  surprised  to  find  such  a  knowl- 
edge of  geography  in  a  dweller  among  the  Alps. .  "Yes, 
I  am  from  Sweden.  But  what  do  you  know  about 
that  country?" 

"Are  you  a  Swede!"  exclaimed  the  girl  in  Swedish. 
"Let  us,  then,  speak  your  northern  tongue,  for  I  un- 
derstand it  quite  as  well  as  my  own." 

Maurits  stared  in  astonishment  at  the  laughing 
girl.  "Who  taught  you  Swedish?"  asked  he. 

"My  father. " 

"And  who  is  your  father?" 

"An  old  man  whom  you  will  surely  like,  as  do  all 
who  learn  to  know  him.  Follow  me  to  yon  green 
painted  house.  We  live  there." 

"Is  your  father  a  Swede?" 

"Yes,  he  was  born  in  Sweden,  but  tired  of  the  world, 
he  settled  down  in  this  obscure  corner  of  the  globe 
to  live  undisturbed  with  his  reflections,  and  he  has 
taught  me  a  great  deal  about  Sweden.  The  first 
sounds  I  heard  were  Swedish  as  well  as  German,  which 
is  the  language  of  our  neighbors  in  the  village.  Come, 
my  father  will  be  glad  to  greet  a  guest  from  that  dear 
land.  He  will  talk  to  you  of  Gustav  Adolph,  Charles 
the  Twelfth  and  Bernadotte.  O,  how  glad  he  will  be, 
my  poor  old  papa!" 

Grasping  Maurits  with  one  hand,  she  held  on  to 
Belinda's  leading  string  with  the  other  and  set  out. 

Maurits  accompanied  her,  charmed  with  her  simple 
manners,  her  beauty  and  ingenuousness. 


THE    ALPINE    MAIDEN  707 

During  the  descent  of  the  rocks,  the  conversation 
was  continued. 

"How  old  are  you,  my  sweet  child?"  asked  Maurits. 

"Sixteen  years." 

"And  is  your  mother  living?" 

"No,  she  died  when  I  was  quite  little." 

"Was  your  mother  also  a  Swede?" 

"No,  she  was  born  here  among  the  mountains. 
During  a  long  illness  that  extended  over  several  years, 
she  attended  my  father  with  the  greatest  of  care,  and 
when  he  recovered  they  were  married." 

"Does  your  father  ever  speak  of  the  circumstances 
that  induced  him  to  desert  his  fatherland  and  settle 
here?" 

"No,  he  never  mentions  them.  They  seem  to  be 
very  painful,  for  he  is  often  gloomy  and  downcast. 
There  are  surely  many  bitter  recollections  in  his  past 
life." 

"What  is  your  father's  name?' 

"His  name  is  Klaus,  but  the  neighbors  call  him  the 
wise  father  Klaus,  for  he  is  a  real  oracle  to  them. 
They  ask  his  advice  in  all  their  troubles,  and  he  rules 
almost  as  a  little  king  among  them.  Do  you  observe 
how  neat  and  pretty  the  cottages  of  our  village  are? 
My  father  built  most  of  them.  O,  he  has  done  so 
much  good!  He  has  lived  only  to  make  the  poor 
around  him  happy,  and  the  good  people,  our  neigh- 
bors, love  him  next  to  God.  For  many  years  there 
has  not  been  so  much  as  a  serious  dispute  among 
them,  and  there  has  never  been  a  crime  committed. 
Old  as  my  father  is,  he  gathers  the  boys  and  girls  of 
the  village  around  him  every  day,  and  teaches  them 
useful  things,  for  my  papa  knows  everything.  He 
talks  with  them  about  God's  greatness  and  mercy, 


708  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

drawing  his  images  from  nature's  kingdom.  He  in- 
structs them  in  many  other  things  also,  and,  as  his 
sight  is  much  impaired  by  age,  I  assist  him.  It  falls 
to  me  to  teach  the  children  to  read  and  write.  Every 
evening,  all  the  villagers,  old  and  young,  assemble 
under  the  great  chestnut  trees  that  grow  just  outside 
our  garden,  and  there  my  father~speaks  words  of  com- 
fort to  them,  or  tells  them  something  that  is  interest- 
ing and  instructive,  and  they  listen  almost  breath- 
lessly. He  then  read  a  prayer,  and  a  chapter  from 
the  book  which  he  calls  'the  book  of  books,'  the 
Bible.  You  should  see  him  with  his  long  white  beard 
and  snow-white  hair,  for,  you  must  know,  my  father 
is  nearly  seventy  years  old  now." 

"Your  father  is  one  of  nature's  noblemen,  a  true 
apostle.  But  how  long  have  you  dwelt  in  this  valley?" 

"As  long  as  I  can  remember.  But  my  mother's 
parents  lived  further  east,  in  the  beautiful  Engadine 
valley.  It  was  there  that  my  father  lay  sick,  and 
there  he  became  acquainted  with  my  mother,  who  was 
very  good  to  him,  he  says,  and  very  beautiful.  After 
their  marriage,  they  moved  to  this  place,  when  my 
father  bought  the  little  property  that  now  makes  our 
home." 

"And  you  never  leave  your  village?" 

"Once  a  year,  in  the  middle  of  June,  we  go  to  Tyrol 
where  my  mother's  parents  lived.  They  are  long 
since  dead,  but  their  cottage  is  still  standing  near  the 
banks  of  the  great  river.  My  father  goes  to  the  top 
of  a  mountain  that  lies  in  the  neighborhood  to  pray, 
he  says.  But  he  does  not  allow  me  to  accompany 
him,  for  he  wishes  to  be  alone.  We  then  go  to 
Innspruck  to  make  our  purchases  of  books  for  the 
year." 


THE    ALPINE    MAIDEN  70$ 

"Purchase  of  books!"  said  Maurits. 

"Yes.  My  father  is  very  fond  of  reading,  and  I  am 
quite  as  eager  as  he." 

"Indeed!     What  kind  of  books   do  you  buy?" 

"Both  German  and  Swedish,  my  father  having  made 
an  arrangement  with  a  dealer  in  Innspruck  that  en- 
ables him  to  procure  them  from  the  great  Leipzic 
stores.  How  many  evenings  have  I  not  sat  and  read 
aloud  to  my  father  from  your  grand  poets,  Tegner, 
Franzen,  Kjellgren  and  Stagnelius.  You  can  hardly 
imagine  my  father's  love  for  them,  and  1  am  perfectly- 
delighted  with  all. " 

"Remarkable,"  said  Maurits  to  himself,  "that  I 
should  find  Tegner  and  Stagnelius  among  the  shep- 
herds of  Switzerland." 

"Well,"  continued  he  aloud,  "after  you  have  pur- 
chased your  books  at  Innspruck,  you  return  home,  I 
suppose." 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  "of  course  we  do;  and  then 
there  is  rejoicing  among  the  villagers,  you  may  be- 
lieve. They  wear  garlands,  and  come  singing  and 
dancing  to  meet  us.  Then  my  father  must  always  read 
from  our  new  books,  which  we  lend  out  also  when  we 
have  read  them.  But  here  we  are.  There  is  my 
father.  There  he  sits,  farthest  off  among  the  people 
who  are  gathered  near  him." 

They  now  stood  at  the  gate  opening  into  the  little 
garden. 

Maurits  cast  a  glance  forward  at  the  stairs  before 
him,  shaded  by  a  pair  of  aged  chestnut  trees. 

At  the  sight  that  greeted  him,  the  young  man  was 
at  once  struck  with  veneration,  and  instinctively  re- 
moved his  hat. 

In  a  rocking-chair  near  the  steps,  sat  an  old  man  of 


710  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

mild  and  pleasing  features,  with  snow-white  hair  and 
long  gray  beard  reaching  far  down  upon  his  breast. 
Years,  or  perhaps  sorrow,  had  plowed  many  and  deep 
furrows  upon  his  forehead,  though  the  half  sightless 
eyes  spoke  of  a  soul  that  was  at  peace  with  the  world 
and  God. 

In  his  hands  the  old  man  held  a  Bible,  from  which 
he  was  reading  to  the  people  who  had  gathered  around 
his  chair  in  the  shade  of  the  chestnut  trees.  His  voice 
was  weak,  but  clear,  reaching  the  ears  of  all  present, 
and  all  were  listening  with  the  deepest  interest. 

Reverentially,  Maurits  took  a  place  by  Marita's  side, 
farthest  away,  near  the  end  of  the  little  grass  plat. 

The  gentle  evening  breeze  brought  the  old  man's 
voice  to  Maurits  He  was  reading  from  the  one  hun- 
dred and  forty-fifth  psalm  of  David: 

"The  Lord  is  righteous  in  all  His  ways  and  gra- 
cious in  all  His  works. 

"The  Lord  is  nigh  unto  all  them  that  call  upon  Him 
in  truth. 

"He  will  fill  the  desires  of  them  that  fear  Him. 
He  will  also  hear  their  cry  and  save  them. 

"The  Lord  preserveth  all  them  that  love  Him.  But 
all  the  wicked  will  He  destroy." 

The  old  man  ceased,  and    Maurits   bowed    his 
thoughtfully. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   LAST   PLAY  OF   FATE 

"The  prayer  is  ended,  come,"  said  Marita,  taking 
Maurits  by  the  hand. 

Maurits  followed. 

"Father,"  cried  the  girl,  springing  forward  and  into 
her  father's  arms,  "see  here,  I  have  a  stranger  with 
me.  Guess  from  what  country." 

Maurits  advanced,  and  saluted  the  old  man  respect 
fully. 

"He  is  from  Sweden,  father!"  cried  Marita  joyously. 
"He  is  a  countryman  of  yours." 

"From  Sweden!"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  his  voice 
trembling;  'are  you  from  Sweden,  young  man!" 

"Yes,"  said  Maurits  in  Swedish,  "and  I  am  informed 
that  you  were  born  in  that  country.  Your  pretty 
daughter  has  so  said." 

"God  be  praised!"  said  the  old  man,  embracing 
Maurits,  "that  I  am  once  more  permitted  to  see  a  per- 
son from  my  dear  native  land.  O,  my  son,  you  must 
remain  with  me  a  few  days  so  that  I  may  talk  with 
you  of  Sweden!" 

"Very  well,"  was  the  response,  "I  promise  you." 

"Your  name,  young  man?" 

"Maurits  Sterner." 

"Is  your  name  Maurits!"  cried  the  old  man  ear- 
nestly; "that  name  is  very  dear  to  me.  But  hush!  Is 
it  long  since  you  left  Sweden?" 

711 


712  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"Yes.  I  have  been  traveling  through  Europe  for 
a  number  of  years.  I  have  visited  Italy,  France  and 
Germany.  I  am  now  making  the  journey  through 
Switzerland,  Tyrol,  Austria,  Bohemia  and  Baden, 
countries  I  have  not  yet  visited." 

"Do  you  travel  on  foot?" 

"Yes,  for  the  most  part.  It  is  from  inclination 
rather  than  necessity,  however.  I  am  traveling  for 
the  purpose  of  studying  nature  and  science." 

"And  humanity?"  added  the  old  man. 

"No, :1  answered  Maurits  coldly,  "I  want  no  more  of 
that  study." 

"You  hate  mankind,  then?"  asked  the  old  man,  smil- 
ing sadly. 

Maurits  did  not  respond. 

"You  have  suffered  greatly,  perhaps,"  continued  the 
old  man. 

'"Yes,"  said  Maurits,   'I  have  suffered." 

'Even  I  have  suffered  deeply,  but  I  do  not  hate  my 
fellows.  God  is  love.  He  forgives  and  loves  us, 
why  then  should  we  hate?" 

"You  are  a  noble  and  estimable  man,"  said  Maurits 
with  feeling.  "I  once  felt  as  you  do;  once  believed 
in  God's  love  and  loved  mankind.  Fate  has  crushed 
my  faith.  I  can't  help  it  that  I  am  as  I  am." 

"Because  you  do  not  understand  God's  ways;  be- 
cause you  cannot  comprehend  his  wisdom  and  love, 
therefore  you  have  lost  faith." 

"So  said  my  mother  as  she  lay  bleeding  to  death, 
trampled  down  by  the  hoofs  of  my  brother's  horse." 

"God  in  heaven!  What  do  you  say!"  cried  the  old 
man,  rising  to  his  feet,  and  lifting  aloft  his  trembling 
hand. 

"I  speak  only  the    truth,  but  let    us  not    talk  of    it. 


THE  LAST  PLAY  OF  FATE  713 

O,  there  are  sufferings,  bitter,  horrible,  that  may  ex- 
cuse one  for  doubting  that  there  is  a  providence,  a 
God  of  love  and  pity!" 

"Let  us  go  in,"  said  the  old  man,  laying  his  hand 
upon  Maurits'  shoulder.  "You  must  be  fatigued  after 
your  walk  and  require  rest.  Marita  will  give  us  some- 
thing to  eat,  then  we  will  go  to  bed." 

The}'  entered  the  humble  abode  where  everything 
struck  Maurits  as  so  simple,  unostentatious,  so  charm- 
ing. The  feeling  was  as  if  he  were  under  his  own 
father's  roof. 

The  days  sped  by,  every  day  strengthening  the  re- 
gard and  love  of  the  two  men  for  each  other. 

They  talked  of  Sweden,  their  dear  fatherland  far 
away;  of  the  midsummer  night  sun  and  glittering 
wheels  of  Charles'  wain  in  the  north;  of  the  beautiful 
Aurora  that  so  brilliantly  lights  the  northern  winter 
sky,  and  the  roaring  streams  that  spring  from  the 
mountain  clefts.  But  concerning  their  own  life  his- 
tory no  word  was  spoken,  They  conversed  quite 
often  of  a  providence  and  of  a  fate,  for  the  old  man 
sought  earnestly  to  proselyte  Maurits.  His  success 
in  this  would  not  have  been  considerable,  perhaps, 
but  for  the  presence  and  aid  of  his  waggish  and  light- 
hearted  daughter. 

Maurits  was  beginning  to  love  life  and  his  fellows 
again. 

At  Maurjts'  side,  she  rambled  over  the  mountains 
gathering  Alpine  roses;  and  with  her,  he  helped  tend 
the  grape  vines,  and  pulled  weeds  from  the  vegetable 
beds  in  the  garden. 

"Listen  to  me,  Marita,"  said  Maurits  one  day,  draw- 
ing the  young  maiden  down  by  his  side  on  a  grassy 


714  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

bank.  "I  feel  so  well  in  this  valley,  among  these 
simple  and  happy  children  of  nature.  They  have  rec- 
onciled me  to  life  and  with  mankind.  I  have  no  wish 
to  go  into  the  outside  world  again,  for  my  sufferings 
there  were  great.  I  wish  to  forget  it.  I  will  build 
me  a  cottage  among  you  here,  "and  settle  down  in  this 
glorious  region.  Here  I  will  be  happy  again;  here  I 
can  breathe  the  fresh  air  of  the  Alps,  and  your  mount- 
ains shall  shield  me  from  the  storms  of  fate.  What 
do  you  think  of  my  plan?" 

"Splendid!"  cried  the  girl  eagerly.  "I  shall  have 
you  for  a  companion  always,  and  my  father,  who  has 
learned  to  love  you  dearly,  need  not  be  deprived  of 
your  presence. " 

"Yes,"  said  Maurits,  "but  everything  depends  upon 
you,  Marita. " 

"Upon  me?" 

"Yes,  if  you  will  love  ma,  if  you  will  entrust  your- 
self to  a  stranger  and  become  his  wife.  Say,  Marita 
do  you  think  you  could  learn  to  love  me?" 

"Love  you!"  was  the  hearty  response,  "why  not!  It 
was  you  who  caught  my  Belinda  when  she  ran  away 
from  me. " 

"Tut,  tut!  Don't  jest,"  said  Maurits,  drawing  her 
to  him  and  pressing  a  kiss  upon  her.  cheek,  "I  am  se- 
rious. Could  you  love  me  enough  to  become  my 
wife?" 

"No,  yes,  we  shall  see,"  answered  Marita,  half  laugh- 
ing, half  crying.  "You  must  ask  my  papa.  I  will  do 
as  he  thinks  best." 

"Thank  you,  Marita,"  cried  Maurits  cheerily,  "now 
I  am  again  happy,  content  and  blessed.  Memories  of 
the  past  shall  no  longer  pursue  me.  You  are  to  be 
the  angel  that  shall  guide  me  again  to  paradise,  Ma- 
rita, to  the  paradise  lost." 


THE  LAST  PLAY  OF  FATE  715 

'And  who  drove  you  from  it?" 

"I  used  to  say  that  it  was  the  inexorable  power  of 
fate,  but  I  will  say  so  no  more.  No,  I  will  believe  it 
was  a  blessed  providence  who  knew  best  what  was 
right  and  most  for  my  good;  who  tried  me  with  suffer- 
ings to  test  my  faith.  I  have  misunderstood  it.  For 
many  years,  I  have  denied  the  existence  of  a  provi- 
dence, but  I  can  do  so  no  longer,  thanks  to  you,  Ma- 
rita. " 

"That  is  right,"  said  Marita.  "I  like  to  hear  you 
speak  so.  God  is  good  and  full  of  love,  my  father 
always  says,  and  he  knows  how  to  bring  back  those 
who  have  gone  astray.  But  go  now  to  papa,  while  I 
pluck  a  few  bunches  of  nice  grapes  for  you." 

"As  red  and  luscious  as  your  lips,  Marita,"  said 
Maurits,  kissing  her. 

She  pulled  herself  away  from  him,  and  sprang  away 
as  swiftly  as  a  gazelle. 

:  What  innocence!  What  grace!"  said  Maurits  to 
himself,  his  eyes  following  her,  and  the  memory  of 
that  pale,  long-mourned  bride  in  Sweden  sank  farther 
and  farther  into  oblivion. 

Maurits  went  into  the  house  in  search  of  the  old 
man  whom  he  found  sitting  at  a  table,  his  head  rest- 
ing thoughtfully  upon  his  hands. 

"You  are  in  distress,  father?"  said  Maurits,  taking 
a  seat  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  table. 

"No,  Maurits,  but  I  feel  my  strength  wasting  daily. 
My  thread  of  life  will  soon  be  spun,  and  who  will 
then  be  my  daughter's  protector?" 

"I,  father,  if  you  will  permit  me." 

"And,"  resumed  the  old  man,  without  heeding  Mau- 
rits' utterance,  "and  there  comes  over  me  sometimes 
an  intense  longing  to  again  see  my  fatherland,  and 


7l6  .THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

those  I  love  there  of  whose  fate  I  have  these  many 
years  been  ignorant.  O,  my  son,  I  have  much  for 
which  to  mourn,  many  things  to  regret!  If  you  knew 
my  history,'  you  would  know  w.hat  a  cruel  alternative 
was  presented  me. " 

"What  was  it  that  drove  you  from  Sweden,  father?" 
said  Maurits.  "It  was  no  crime,  I  am  sure." 

"Yes,  young  man,  it  was  a  crime,  a  horrible  crime." 

Maurits  was  silent. 

"But,"  continued  the  old  man,  "it  was  not  com 
mitted  by  me. " 

"Not  by  you!"  interrupted  Maurits  in  surprsie. 

"Not  by  me.  You  shall  hear  my  history,  then  judge 
me.  I  will  relate  an  occurrence  of  which  I  have  never 
before  spoken  to  human  being,  and  if  you  return  to 
Sweden,  you  must  not  abuse  my  confidence." 

"I  am  listening,  father,  and  you  shall  have  confi- 
dence for  confidence.  I  will  then  relate  my  history." 

And  the  old  man  began: 

"There  was  once  a  rich  count,  no  matter  about  his 
name,  who  left  his  fatherland  on  a  journey  into  for- 
eign countries.  He  was  accompanied  by  his  elder  son, 
the  only  child  by  his  first  wife,  deceased.  This  son 
hated  his  father,  and  hated  him  because  he  was  not 
allowed  to  follow  his  own  bent,  and  disposition  to 
rush  into  the  most  unrestrained  dissipations.  They 
traveled  through  Switzerland  and  Tyrol.  They  came 
one  evening  together  upon  a  high  cliff  that  lifted  itself 
perpendicularly  from  the  river  Inn  many  hundred 
feet  below.  An  exchange  of  words  here  took  place 
between  father  and  son.  The  son  wished  to  go  to 
Italy,  to  which  the  father  was  opposed.  It  was  even- 
ing. The  sun  was  sinking  behind  the  Alps,  and  the 
elder  count  approached  the  brow  of  the  cliff  in  order 


THE  LAST  PLAY  OF  FATE  717 

to  better  view  the  beautiful  picture  spread  before  him. 
With  stealthy  step,  the  son  crept  up  behind  him,  and, 
as  his  father  stood  drinking  in  the  beauties  of  the 
Swiss  landscape,  hurled  him  headlong  into  the  waters 
of  the  river  below." 

"Merciful  God!"  cried  Maurits,  his  cheeks  becoming 
pale  as  a  sheet.  "Ah!  If  it  were  true!  If  it- but 
no— it  is  impossible!" 

"It  is  true,  every  word,  my  son,"  said  the  old  man, 
who  supposed  Maurits'  exclamation  was  caused  by 
what  he  had  just  heard. 

A  terrible  suspicion  had  been  born  in  the  young 
man's  mind,  a  suspicion  which  the  reader  has  long 
ago  reduced  to  a  certainty,  perhaps,  but  he  said  noth- 
ing more.  Silent,  and  struggling  with  the  emotions 
that  raged  within  him,  he  listened  to  the  end  of  the 
old  man's  narration. 

"This  count,"  resumed  the  old  man,  "who  was  thus 
plunged  into  the  waters  of  the  river,  was  I." 

He  paused  for  an  instant,  overcome  seemingly  by 
bitter  reflections. 

Maurits  also  remained  silent.  He  had  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands,  and  his  body  was  shaking  convul- 
sively. 

"In  the  dreadful  fall  I  lost  consciousness, "  resumed 
the  old  man,  "I  realized  only  faintly  that  I  was  falling, 
falling,  then  sinking,  sinking,  and  the  waters  rushing 
over  me  on  their  troubled  way  to  the  sea.  O,  that  I  had 
never  risen  from  that  river's  depths!  That  I  had  never 
wakened  with  the  terrible  recollections  that  now,  after 
so  man}'  years,  echo  in  my  soul,  'Your  son  tried  to 
murder  you!'  Can  there  be  any  thought  more  bitter 
to  a  father?  When  I  recovered  consciousness,  I  found 
myself  lying  on  a  b:d  in  the  neat  cottage  of  a  herder. 


7l8  THE    PLAY   OF    FATE 

Its  poor  owner,  an  old  man,  living  therewith  his  wife 
and  a  beautiful  daughter,  their  only  child,  had  found 
my  body  on  the  bank  of  the  river.  I  was  very  sick. 
I  could  only  pray  him  to  allow  me  to  remain  where  I 
was,  and  to  say  nothing  to  anybody  about  the  circum- 
stances that  had  brought  me  under  his  roof,  which  he 
promised.  During  my  feverish  ravings,  I  was 
pursued  constantly  by  the  thought,  'Your  son  would 
murder  you!' 

''Search  was  made  for  my  body,  as  I  heard  afterward, 
and  when  it  was  finally  given  up,  my  son  left  the  re- 
gion. 

"Fortunately,  I  had  on  my  person  a  considerable 
sum  of  money  with  which  to  compensate  the  poor 
dwellers  in  the  hut  for  the  care  bestowed  upon  me. 

"The  herder's  daughter,  Theresa, watched  me  during 
my  long  illnass  with  the  tenderest  solicitude.  I  was 
moved  up  to  a  small  gable  room  which  had  been  pre- 
pared for  me.  My  illness  exte'nded  over  two  years, 
during  which  I  was  not  out  of  my  bed  once,  and  it 
was  feared  many  times  that  I  would  become  a  maniac. 
My  soul  was  dead  to  all  earthly  pleasures;  I  was  dis- 
gusted with  the  world.  A  thousand  times  I  wished 
myself  dead,  and  there  was  but  a  single  thing  that 
held  me  to  my  fatherland.  This  was  my  second  wife, 
to  whom  I  was  married  secretly  and  who  was  now  liv- 
ing in  Sweden  with  a  son  which  she  had  given  me  and 
whose  name  was  Maurits,  as  yours." 

At  this  instant,  the  old  man  cast  a  glance  at  his 
listener.  He  shuddered  at  the  sight  before  him. 

With  the  last  words,  Maurits  had  sprung  to  his  feet. 
His  hair  was  standing  on  end  as  if  in  terror.  His 
eyes  stared  wildly  before  him,  and  his  whole  body 
trembled  as  if  shaken  with  a  convulsion. 


THE    LAST    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"What  ails  you!"  cried  the  old  man  in  alarm 

With  a  loud  cry,  Maurits  fell  at  the  old  man's  feet, 
and,  pressing  his  hand  to  his  lips,  broke  out  in  a  voice 
that  gave  token  of  the  great  flood  of  feeling  that  over- 
whelmed him: 

"My  father,   O,  my  father!" 

"God  in  heaven!  Are  you  — no,  it  is  impossible! 
Such  happiness  is  not  for  me!"  stammered  the  old 
man,  lifting  his  trembling  hands  toward  heaven. 

"Yes,  Lam  your  son,  son  of  Count  Stjernekrantz 
and  the  gardener's  daughter,  Augusta." 

"Master,  now  let  thy  servant  depart  in  peace!  "  burst 
forth  the  old  man  in  tones  in  inspiration.  "My  son, 
my  Maurits!  I  have  found  you,  you  after  whom  my 
heart  has  yearned,  you  for  whom  I  have  plead  to  God 
in  earnest  prayer!  My  son,  my  dear  son!  " 

One  must  seek  something  more  power/ul  than  the 
poor  language  of  humanity  if  he  would  portray  this 
scene.  Words  from  human  lips  cannot  interpret  such 
feelings  as  these. 

"And  your  mother?"  asked  the  old  man  as  soon  as 
the  first  demonstrations  of  joy  were  over. 

"She  is  dead  long  ago." 

"How  many  years  ago?  '  inquired  the  old  man  ea- 
gerly. 

"Seventeen  years." 

"Thank  God,  I  am  not  a  bigamist  then." 

"Ha!  true!"  exclaimed  Maurits,  springing  to  his 
feet  and  smitting  his  forehead,  "Marita  is  my  sister." 

"You  love  her?"  said  the  old  man  with  trembling 
voice. 

"Yes,  and  she  has  just  promised  to  become  my  wife." 

"Father,  thy  ways  are  wonderful!" 

"Another  illusion    destroyed!  "  cried    Maurits     in  a 


720  THE     PLAY    OF    FATE 

rage.  "O,  Eberhard  is  guilty  again.  By  the  living 
God,  this  is  more  than  human  heart  can  forgive!  I 
will  crush  him!  The  villain  who  has  poisoned  my 
life,  who  has  lifted  a  murderous  hand  against  my  fa- 
ther! I'll  see  his  blood  gush,  his  heart's  blood  —  curses 
upon  him!  And  there  dwells  a  Judge  above  the  stars 
who  destroys  the  unrighteous  and  protects  the  godly, 
they  tell  me!  No,  revenge!  Revenge!  Bloody  re- 
venge! There  is  no  Judge!  I  will  judge  him!" 

"Hush!  He  is  already  judged,"  said  the  old  man 
seriously.  "Yes,"  he  continued,  drawing  Maurits  to 
his  breast,  "yes,  his  own  conscience  has  already  told 
him  that  God  has  judged  him.  Let  us  not  curse. 
God  forgave  the  thief  on  the  cross  when  he  repented, 
and  perhaps  Eberhard  has  atoned  for  his  crime  with 
tears  of  blood." 

"He!"  ejaculated  Maurits  excitedly,  "no,  no,  he  has 
gone  to  the  full  extent  of  crime  without  repentance- 
without  change  for  the  better.  But  more  of  this  at 
another  time.  Tell  me  now,  father,  how  could  you 
leave  my  mother  and  me  to  shift  for  ourselves?" 

"Hear  me  through  before  you  upbraid  me,"  said  the 
old  man.  "I  will  resume  my  narration." 

"When  I  recovered  from  my  long  illness,  the  alter- 
native was  presented  to  me,  either  to  return  to  Swe- 
den and  appear  as  the  accuser  of  my  own  son,  my  first- 
born,  or  leave  you  and  your  mother  to  your  fate,  and 
settle  down  in  some  quiet  place  where  I  might  live 
unknown  with  my  memories.  I  knew  that  you  and 
Augusta  were  placed  beyond  the  possibility  of  want, 
because  you  had  proof  in  your  hands  that  assured  you 
considerable  of  the  property  left  by  me,  so  I  need  not 
concern  myself  about  you  as  far  as  money  and  com- 
forts had  to  dp  with  your  welfare." 


THE  LAST  PLAY  OF  FATE  721 

"But  you  forget  my  mother's  promise,  father." 

"What  promise?" 

"Not  to  make  use  of  those  papers  before  I  had  com- 
pleted my  twentieth  year." 

"No,  I  have  not  forgotten  it— but  she  was  freed  from 
that  promise  when  she  heard  of  my  death,  and  that  I 
had  left  nothing  else  for  you.  " 

''She  did  not  so  regard  it— but  more  of  this  by  and 
by.  Continue  your  story,  father." 

"Well,  of  the  two,  I  chose  the  course  which,  it 
seemed  to  me,  would  cause  the  least  suffering.  I 
moved  to  Switzerland,  and  with  the  money  I  had  re- 
maining, bought  this'little  property.  Theresa,  whose 
parents  had  died  meantime,  accompanied  me.  She 
was  very  dear  to  me.  Her  tender  kindness  had  won 
me.  During  a  second  illness  that  was  near  taking  me 
off,  I  married  her,  Maurits,  in  order  that  the  little 
property  I  possessed  might  go  to  her  at  my  death. 
But  I  recovered,  thanks  to  her  tireless  attentions,  and 
a  3'ear  later  she  brought  me  a  daughter,  my  Marita. 
You  now  know  all.  Since  then  I  have  dwelt  in  this 
valley  without  hearing  a  word  from  my  native  land.  I 
have  employed  myself  in  the  endeavor  to  compensate 
for  the  crime  committed  against  you  and  Augusta  by 
kindness  to  the  poor  people  here.  Judge  me  now,  my 
son ! " 

"It  is  not  for  me  to  judge  you,"  said  Maurits,  "but 
this  I  feel  and  must  say,  notwithstanding  all  I  have 
suffered,  1  honor  and  bless  you,  father." 

"You  must  tell  me  your  life  story,"  said    the  count. 

"Yes,  you  shall  hear  it." 

Maurits  began  the  story  of  his  life  from  the  an- 
nouncement of  the  elder  count's  death,  leaving  them 
without  support.  He  described  his  mother's  priva- 


722  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

tions,  sufferings  and  horrible  death.  He  touched  up- 
on the  story  of  Jacob  Kron,  his  own  love  for  Isabella 
and  Eberhard's  scandalous  deception.  He  told  all 
except  the  story  of  Angela,  for  he  would  not  have  his 
father  suffer  the  anguish  that  must  come  with. a  knowl- 
edge of  her  kinship  and  fate. 

It  were  vain  to  attempt  a  description  of  the  old 
man's  feelings  during  this  narration.  The  reader  can 
better  imagine  them. 

When  Maurits  had  concluded,  the  old  man  remained 
silent  a  long  time,  then,  drawing  Maurits  to  his  breast, 
he  cried: 

"My  noble,  my  worthy  son!  You  have  struggled  and 
suffered  as  becomes  a  man.  Providence  has  tried  you 
severely,  and  though  you  have  doubted  God's  mercy 
he  will  not  record  it  against  you.  Blessings  upon 
you,  my  son! " 

At  this  instant,  the  door  opened  and  Marita  entered, 
bearing  a  plateful  of  the  most  tempting  grapes.  She 
set  them  upon  the  table  and  rushed  into  her  father's 
arms. 

"Marita,  my  sister!"  cried  Maurits,  placing  his  arm 
around  her  waist. 

"Your  sister!  "  exclaimed  she,  growing  pale. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  old  count,  laying  his  hand  up- 
on the  heads  of  the  young  people.  "God  bless  you, 
my  children!" 

Here  the  sinking  sun  peeped  in  through  the  win- 
dows and  cast  its  dying  rays  over  the  beautiful  tableau. 

Some  days  later,  the  old  count  was  in  readiness  for 
the  long  journey  to  Sweden.  Marita  had  succeeded  in 
persuading  him  to  once  more  visit  the  land  of  his 
birth.  He  need  not  reveal  his  name,  not  even  to  Eb- 
erhard  if  he  would  not.  He  could  not  resist  the  temp- 


THE  LAST  PLAY  OF  FATE  723 

tation,  but  it  was  agreed  that  Maurits  should  return 
with  him  to  this  quiet  valley,  and  there  close  his  eyes, 
for  the  count  wished  to  die  among  the  shepherds  to 
whom  he  had  devoted  the  last  years  of  his  life. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  PATRICIDE'S   DEATH  STRUGGLE 

Preceding  the  travelers  to  Odensvik,  we  find  its 
owner  on  his  death-bed.  A  life  of  luxury  and  indul- 
gence had  prematurely  sapped  Eberhard's  energy. 
After  Isabella's  supposed  death,  he  had  at  times 
plunged  into  new  dissipations  to  drown  his  mortifica- 
tion, and  at  times,  a  helpless  prey  to  the  despair  that 
could  no  longer  be  dispelled,  he  had  locked  himself 
up  at  Odensvik  beyond  the  approach  of  anybody  ex- 
cept his  servants.  Many  changes  had  also  taken  place 
outside  of  Odensvik. 

Baron  Ehrenstam  had  died  recently,  the  result  of  a 
fall  from  his  horse,  wherefore  George  was  now  master 
at  Liljedahl,  tyrannizing  over  his  mother,  while  Isa- 
bella, under  an  assumed  name,  unknown  and  forgotten, 
was  still  a  dweller  in  Smoland  with  Holmer's  old 
aunt.  Holmer  had  just  arrived,  however,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  taking  her  back  to  Liljedahl,  for  after  the 
baron's  death,  Isabella  was  seized  with  a  strong  desire 
to  see  her  mother  again,  especially  since  informed  by 
a  letter  from  Holmer  how  unkindly  George  was  treat- 
ing her. 

So  matters  stood  when  one  evening  a  dusty  travel- 
ing carriage  halted  before  the  door  of  Odensvik.  There 
alighted  from  this  conveyance,  Maurits,  Marita  and 
their  father.  They  had  been  informed  of  Eberhard's 
illness,  and  the  old  count  wished  to  see  his  unfortu- 

724 


THE  PATRICIDE'S  DEATH  STRUGGLE 


725 


nate  son  again,  and,  if  possible,  whisper  in  his  dying 
ears  a  few  words  of  comfort  and  forgiveness. 

We  will  precede  them  to  Eberhard's  bed-chamber 
where  we  find  him  quite  alone  on  his  couch  of  tor- 
ment, for  the  fury  that  surged  within  him,  and  that 
found  utterance  during  his  wild  dreams,  had  driven 
evreybody  from  his  death -bed.  Moreover,  he  would 
not  see  anyone.  He  had  lived  alone,  he  would  die 
alone. 

It  had  been  suggested  that  a  priest  be  called,  but 
he  had  responded  with  a  wild  laugh,  and  the  inquiry 
if  they  thought  him  mad. 

The  sick  man  was  sitting  up  in  bed  with  the  sheet 
wrapped  around  his  shoulders.  The  sight  would  have 
struck  terror  to  the  bravest  heart.  The  glow  of  the 
dark,  deeply  sunken  eyes  gave  the  only  manifestation 
in  his  face  that  life  still  lingered  in  his  body.  The 
ashy  gray  cheeks  were  appallingly  thin,  and  his  hair, 
which  had  become  almost  white,  hung  in  a  straggling 
mass  over  his  forehead,  already  moist  with  the  sweat 
of  death. 

Eberhard  was  suffering  from  a  dreadful  sickness 
which  the  doctors  had  pronounced  tabes  dorsalis.  His 
lips  were  distorted  with  a  fiendish  smile,  and  his  teeth 
were  closely  set  as  if  to  suppress  the  outburst  of  the 
death  agonies  that  were  devouring  him. 

He  seemed,  at  the  instant,  to  be  pursued  by  specters, 
for  he  was  swinging  his  arms  violently  about  him  as 
if  to  chase  away  the  dreadful  and  threatening  creatures 
of  his  imagination. 

"Ha!  The  devils!"  he  broke  forth  finally;  "there 
they  are  again,  those  pale,  hellish,  bloody  ghosts! 
They  threaten  me,  they  beckon  me  to  them,  and  I  am 
alone — usch!  alone!  It  is  so  cold  here  and  I — feel 


726  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

death  chilling  ray  heart!  My  heart,  in  whose  dark 
depths  not  a  ray  of  hope  remains.  I  must  die — • 
Yes,  for  the  bloody  shadow  of  my  father — whom  I 
murdered, — my  sister — whom  I  debauched, — my  bride 
— whom  I  forced  to  suicide, — these  spirits  beckon  me! 
They  wish  me  to  dance  with  them — upon  glowing  hot 
iron!  Come,  then  —Angela,  Isabella,  my  sacrifices, 
— come, — let  us  dance!  Ha,  ha,  ha!" 

Eberhard's  laugh  was  hideous.  "We  will  dance," 
continued  he.  "Good!  We  will  dance  the  death's 
dance  till  the  day  of  judgment.  The  day  of  judgment! 
There  is  no  such  thing.  No  God!  No  avenger!  Every- 
thing ends  with  this  life!  The  death  worm  will  fatten 
upon  our  bodies,  and  our  souls— do  they  die?  Are 
they  extinguished  like  the  flame  of  a  candle?  Yes— no 
— I  do  not  know — I  do  not  believe— yes,  I  do  know. 
They  burn — burn — burn  in  eternal  agonies!  The  dev- 
ils will  put  them  upon  a  gridiron  and  broil  them  for 
breakfast,  but  they  become  whole  again  afterwards 
and  are  boiled  in  seething  water.  So  say  the  priests. 
I  do  not  believe  the  priests,  they  are  all  liars!— But 
if  it  were  true — If  there  should  be  an  avenger!  If 
the  thunder  and  lightning  in  the  sky  are  words  of 
warning  from  a  God  who  stretches  forth  His  arms  of 
fire  to  smite  the  criminal — Heaven  and  hell! — Were  I 
to  meet  him  up  there,  him  whom  I  hurled  into  the 
waters  of  the  river — were  I  to  meet  him  but  for  an 
instant,  I  should  sink  into  hell  to  escape  the  sight! 
Ah,  there  they  are  again  in  yonder  corner!  Yes,  I 
see  them,  though  it  is  dark  there.  Perhaps  they  will 
disappear  if  a  light  is  brought.  Here!  Some  one! 
Pierre!  Light!  light!" 

The  servant  rushed  in  from  a  side  room,  alarmed  at 
the  cry  of  the  count. 


THE  PATRICIDK'S  DL:ATH-STRU<JGLE 


727 


"What  can  I  d  >  for  you,  sir?" 

"Light,  strike  a  light." 

"But  there  are  lights  both  in  the  chandeliers  and 
in  the  candlesticks." 

"Indeed!  Yes,  yes.  Go  away.  I  wish  to  be  alone. 
It  seemed  so  dark  here.  No,  remain!"  cried  the 
count. 

"I  await  your  commands,   sir." 

"Listen,   Pierre.      Do  you  think  there  is  a  devil?" 

"Yes.      Who  doubts  it?" 

"You  stupid!  Do  you  believe  there  is  also  a  God 
then?" 

"Ugh!  What  horrid  questions!"  cried  the  servant 
in  alarm.  "If  you  wish  it,  sir,  I  will  call  a  priest. 
You  can  talk  with  him  of  God." 

"To  the  devil  with  your  priests!"  cried  Eberhard 
furiously.  "Do  you  think  I  will  allow  my  stomach 
to  be  outraged  with  their  abominable  church  wine? 
No,  I  will  drink  champagne.  Go  to  the  cellar  and 
get  a  bottle  of  champagne,  Pierre." 

"It  will  not  do  for  you  to  drink  wine.  The  doctor 
has  forbidden  it." 

"The  doctor!  Who,  of  all  the  devils,  has  asked  the 
advice  of  the  miserable  fool!  If  he  is  here  now,  take 
him  out  and  drown  him  in  the  river  Inn.  Hush!  I 
am  talking  nonsense.  Bring  me  champagne,  you  imp 
of  Satan,  or  I  will  discharge  you  from  my  service." 

"My  God!  That  you  can  swear  so  in  your  last 
moments!  Why  do  you  so  continually  have  the  name 
of  the  devil  on  your  tongue?" 

"Because  he  is  my  only  relation  at  present.  Get 
out  of  my  sight,  Pierre.  I  do  not  wish  to  see  you 
again. " 

Glad  to  get  away   from     the  dreadful    scene,    Pierre 


THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

hastened  to  join  the  other  domestics  assembled  in  the 
next  room- 

It  was  at  this  instant  that  the  before-mentioned 
carriage  halted  at  the  door.  Several  servants  went 
quickly  out  to  receive  the  new-comers, 

Eberhard  had  endeavored,  meanwhile,  to  get  up, 
but,  unsuccessful  in  this,  he  had  sunk  back  upon  his 
pillows. 

"It  is  terrible  to  die  here  alone!"  continued  he,  "at- 
tended only  by  hired  servants.  And  that  muddy-brained 
Pierre,  to  declare  that  there  is  a  devil!  A  devil! 
What  does  it  signify!  No.  It  would  take  a  whole 
legion  to  give  me  my  deserts.  It  would  be  only  just, 
but  there  is  no  justice.  It  is  a  lie!  O  God,  how  I 
suffer!  God — how  stupid!  No,  there  is  no  God. 
My  father  is  dead,  eternally  dead.  I  shall  never  see 
him  again.  He  does  not  live  either  in  heaven  or  en 
earth. " 

1  He  does  live!"  said  a  voice  at  that  instant,  quite 
near  him. 

Eberhard  started  violently,  and  turned  toward  the 
door.  It  had  been  opened,  and  on  the  threshold  stood 
a  venerable  looking  gentleman  with  a  long  white 
beard,  supported  by  the  arm  of  a  young  man.  Marita, 
with  her  sweet  childish  face,  brought  up  the  rear. 

"He  lives!"  repeated  the  old  man  sorrowfully;  "he 
lives  and  forgives  you,  unhappy  boy!" 

"Usch,  that  voice!      Where  have  I  heard  it  before?" 

The  gentleman  approached  the  bedside  with  unsteady 
steps.  "He  is  coming  nearer!  '  shrieked  Eberhard. 
"No,  do  not  come,  old  man — away,  away!  Oh,  I  am 
suffocating!" 

"It  is  I,  I,  your  father,"  said  the  visitor.  "I  am 
come  to  forgive  you.  I  am  not  dead." 


THE  PATRICIDE'S  DEATH-STRUGGLE  729 

Eberhard  had  sunk  back  upon  his  pillow.  The  ut- 
terances of  the  old  man  ha.1  penetrated  his  ear.  His 
heart  was  broken ;  he  was  dead. 

And  thus  ended  the  drama  that  began  in  Paris 
when  Crispin  found  himself  heartlessly  jilted  by  Ma- 
thilda Stjernekrantz  whose  life  he  had  saved  from  the 
scaffold. 


CHAPTER  XII 

CONCLUSION 

"I  am  now  master  of  Odensvik,  but  what  does  it 
avail  me?  I  have  nothing  for  which  I  would  live, 
nothing,"  said  Maurits  to  his  father,  on  the  day  of 
Eberhard's  burial. 

"What  of  art,  of  science,  my  son,"  said  the  old 
count,  "and  your  fellow  creatures,  your  dependents? 
Do  you  owe  them  nothing?  And  Marita,  your  sister, 
shall  she  be  left  without  a  protector  when  I  am  gone, 
as  must  be  soon?  No,  Maurits,  there  is  much  for 
which  you  should  live." 

At  once  with  the  announcement  of  Eberhard's  death, 
a  distant  relative  had  appeared  upon  the  scene  to  take 
possession  of  the  estate.  He  did  not  remain  long, 
however,  for  Maurits  experienced  no  difficulty  in  es- 
tablishing his,  right  as  sole  heir  to  the  property. 

The  old  count  retained  his  incognito.  It  was  sup- 
posed that  he  and  Marita  were  Maurits'  friends  only, 
who  were  visiting  Sweden  with  him  for  pleasure.  No 
one  but  these  three  had  witnessed  the  scene  at  Eber- 
hard's death-bed. 

The  count  and  Marita,  it  was  decided,  should  re- 
main at  Odensvik  through  the  winter.  With  the  com- 
ing of  spring,  Maurits  was  to  accompany  them  back 
to  their  beautiful  Switzerland,  and  there  spend  the 
summer  and  autumn  with  them,  after  which  he  was 
to  return  to  Sweden  to  superintend  the  conduct  of  his 

730 


CONCLUSION  731 

estates,  with  the  understanding,  however,  that  every 
year  while  the  old  count  lived,  he  was  to  visit  him 
and  Marita. 

Eberhard's  burial  had  taken  place  in  great  privacy. 
Only  Pastor  Bergholm,  who  conducted  the  exercises, 
Holmer  and  a  few  neighbors  with  whom  Maurits  had 
become  acquainted  in  former  days,  were  present. 
The  old  count  and  Marita  were  not  among  the  num 
ber.  They  had  locked  themselves  in  their  room,  while 
Maurits,  whose  near  relation  to  the  dead  man  was  no 
longer  a  secret,  officiated  as  host  for  the  occasion,  as- 
sisted by  good  Madame  Bergholm,  who  took  upon 
herself  the  management  of  the  kitchen  and  household 
affairs  generally.  The  good  lady  was  as  when  we  saw 
her  last,  only  a  littleness  peevish,  perhaps,  for  her 
husband  was  now  in  a  fair  way  to  secure  the  long  cov- 
eted pastorate.  He  had  been  induced,  by  much  per- 
suasion, to  seek  the  pulpit  of  Nadesdahl  when  the 
priest  Washolm  applied  for  removal  to  a  better  pay- 
ing diocese. 

Some  of  the  guests  were  disposed  to  address  Mau- 
rits by  his  title,  count,  whereupon  he  informed  them 
at  once  that  he  meant  never  to  assume  the  title,  but 
had  determined  to  retain  the  name  which  he  had  borne 
since  childhood.  Call  this  pride  if  you  will. 

That  the  happenings  at  Odensvik  opened  a  wide  field 
for  gossip  and  curiosity  among  the  neighbors,  we  need 
not  say.  The  unexpected  appearance  of  a  brother  of 
the  dead  man,  a  brother  whose  existence  no  one  had 
heretofore  suspected,  for  both  Eberhard  and  Pastor 
Bergholm  had  kept  the  secret,  the  company  of  an  old 
man  and  a  young  girl  with  whom  he  had  arrived — all 
this  quite  naturally  set  the  tongues  of  the  neighbor-, 
hood  going,  and  for  months  nothing  else  was  talked 
of. 


732  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

We  will  pass  over  this  as  of  little  interest  to  the 
reader.  The  proofs  of  his  birth  and  rights  produced  by 
Maurits  were  so  convincing  that  none  of  his  relatives 
thought  of  laying  claim  to  the  estate,  but  allowed  him 
to  take  possession  without  opposition. 

The  guests  at  the  funeral  departed  in  good  time. 
The  September  sun  was  still  shining  clear  and  mild 
over  the  golden  park  where,  at  the  foot  of  Mathilda 
Stjernekrantz'  tomb,  freshly  decked  with  flowers,  sat 
three  friends  engaged  in  earnest  conversation. 

These  were  Pastor  Bergholm,  Holmer  and  Maurits. 
The  latter  had  no  secret  now  that  he  had  not  shared 
with  his  trustworthy  friends,  upon  whom  he  could  re- 
ly as  upon  himself.  They  even  knew  who  the  guests 
were  that  Maurits  had  brought  with  him  from  abroad, 
and  they  understood  the  motives  that  induced  the 
old  count  to  live  so  many  years  away  from  his  father- 
land, leaving  the  whole  world  to  believe  that  he  had 
perished  as  had  been  announced. 

"You  have  gone  through  marvelous  experiences, 
friend  Maurits,"  said  the  good  pastor.  "You  have 
suffered  greatly,  but  well  for  you  that  you  have  held 
fast  to  virtue  and  uprightness.  Providence  has  re 
warded  you  therefore  by  sending  you  an  abundance  of 
the  good  things  of  the  earth.  Learn  to  understand 
your  position,  and  employ  your  strength  to  the  soften- 
ing of  the  ills  of  mankind,  and  you  will  yet  be  happy. " 

"Happy!  '  said  Maurits  bitterly.  "O,  you  know  not 
what  you  say!  I  have  suffered  too  many  losses,  seen 
too  many  illusions  crushed,  to  ever  dream  again  of 
happiness.  I  have  loved  twice,  Isabella  and  Marita. 
Isabella  is  dead,  and  Marita  is  my  sister.  This  heart 
can  never  again  know  love.  Life's  beautiful  flower  is 
not  for  me." 


CONCLUSION 


733 


"Are  you  quite  sure  of  this?"  asked  Holmer,  smiling 
.significantly. 

Even  the  good  pastor  smiled,  for  he  had  been  made 
aware  of  Isabella's  recovery  from  her  trance. 

"Sure,"  said   Maurits.      "Do  you  doubt  it?" 

"Come  to  me  to-morrow  evening  and  I  will  give  you 
an  answer,"  said  Holmer.  "I  will  show  you  a  beautiful 
picture." 

"Where  did  you  procure  it?"  asked  Maurits  in  sur- 
prise. 

I  returned  yesterday  from  a  journey  and  brought 
it  with  me  from  Smoland.  But  it  is  not  from  (he 
schools  of  Smoland,"  continued  he  merrily. 

"Really,  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"I  am  ready  to  believe  you.  However,  bring  your 
father  and  sister  with  you  to  Marielund  to-morrow 
evening.  Promise  me." 

"Yes,  we  will  come.  Let  me  ask  now  how  your 
school  is  getting  along." 

"Splendidly!"  said  Holmer;  "and  I  may  thank  you 
alone.  The  document  you  got  out  of  the  baron  had 
a  good  effect.  He  did  not  dare,  during  the  rest  of 
his  life,  oppose  me,  and  the  other  gentry  followed  his 
example.  My  school  is  flourishing,  therefore." 

Holmer  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  the  old 
count,  who,  supported  by  Marita's  arm,  now  joined 
the  party. 

The  old  man  walked  with  feeble  step,  and  upon 
reaching  the  foot  of  the  monument  where  the  three 
sat,  they  rose  and  lifted  their  hats  respectfully. 

"Father,"  said  Maurits,  "let  me  present  to  you  my 
best  friends,  Pastor  Bergholm  and  Magister  Holmer. 
You  know  already  under  what  great  obligations  I  am 
to  the  good  pastor,  especially,  who  took  the  place  of 
my  father,  and  who  has  done  all  for  me." 


734  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

"I  know,  I  know!"  said  the  old  count  with  feeling. 
"O,  my  dear  pastor.  I  can  only  say  to  you  that  my 
gratitude  is  eternal.  But  for  you  I  had  never  seen 
this  hour,  and,  may  be,  never  again  the  land  of  my 
birth." 

"I  was  only  an  instrument  in  the  hands  of  the  Al- 
mighty," returned  the  pastor  meekly.  "If  I  had  not 
been,  Maurits  would  have  found  another." 

"Worthy  priest,  apostle  of  truth!"  exclaimed  the 
count,  embracing  the  pastor;  "O,  that  all  priests  were 
like  you!  The  world  would  be  so  much  better." 

"Hm,  hm!"  responded  the  pastor,  wiping  his  eyes. 
"I  have  seen  you  before,  sir  count." 

"Hush!  Not  that  title,"  interrupted  the  old  man. 
"Count  Stjernekrantz  is  dead.  He  sleeps  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  river  Inn." 

"What  shall  I  call  you,  then?"  said  the  pastor- with 
embarrassment. 

"Brother,"  said  the  count  laughing,  extending  his 
hand.  "Are  we  not  brothers?  Have  you  not  been  as 
a  father  to  my  son?" 

Much  moved,  Pastor  Bergholm  pressed  the  hand 
lying  in  his. 

"We  have  seen  each  other  before,"  he  resumed,  "but 
it  was  many  years  ago.  You  have  changed  greatly 
since  then.  Only  your  eyes  are  the  same.  They  are 
illumined  with  the  same  goodness." 

"And  you,"  said  the  count,  "you  are  not  as  you  were 
then,  old  friend.  But  we  are  no  longer  young." 

"No,  I  will  soon  be  seventy,"  said  the  pastor. 

"And  I  also.  And  you  have  been  left  with  your 
little  parish  until  now?" 

"Yes,  I  have  had  much  bad  luck,  but  I  am  on  the 
eve  of  getting  the  pastorate  vacated  by  Priest  Washolm. 
We  shall  see  if  I  succeed," 


CONCLUSION 


735 


"You  shall  have  it!"  said  Maurits  with  warmth. 
1  Depend  upon  it.  Who  would  deny  you  his  vote?" 

"O,  I  have  not  cherished  any  great  hopes, >;  said 
the  pastor,  "and  it  was  only  to  gratify  my  wife  that 
I  sought  it.  It  is  reported,  however,  that  Baron 
Ehrenstam  of  Liljedahl  will  work  for  another." 

"Let  him  work,  I  defy  him!"  cried  Maurits.  "George 
has  some  influence,  no  doubt,  but  you  have  me  and 
the  people  with  you,  my  old  friend!  Be  calm,  you 
shall  have  the  pastorate." 

"Thank  you,  my  son.  If  age  had  made  me  incom- 
petent, I  should  not  have  sought  such  a  responsible 
position,  but  I  am,  thank  God,  full  of  vigor,  and  be- 
lieve myself  good  for  a  number  of  years  yet." 

"It  is  growing  chilly,  let  us  go  in,"  said  Maurits, 
offering  his  arm  to  his  father.  "We  will  meet  to- 
morrow evening  at  Marielund  as  agreed." 

It  was  the  da)-  following  the  foregoing  conversation. 
In  the  evening,  the  old  count,  accompanied  by  his 
two  children,  drove  to  Marielund.  Holmerand  Marie, 
with  three  or  four  light-haired  children,  hastened 
out  to  open  the  gate  for  their  guests. 

Marie,  not  yet  let  into  the  secret  of  who  the  old 
man  was,  welcomed  her  visitors  in  the  most  friendly 
manner,  and  invited  them  into  the  parlor. 

It  was  dusk,  yet  the  candles  had  not  been  lighted. 
Pastor  Bergholm,  with  wife  and  daughters,  had  al- 
ready arrived,  and  the  little  party  was  soon  comfort- 
ably seated  at  the  cozy  tea-table,  ready  for  the  refresh- 
ments. 

"The  tea  is  not  ready  yet,"  said  Marie.  "Let  us 
visit  in  the  dusk  until  then.  Maurits,  you  must  tell 
us  some  of  the  pleasant  things  you  met  with  during 


736  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

your  travels.  Tell  me  first  who  the  venerable  gentle- 
man and  the  young  woman  are  whom  I  am  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  have  for  my  guests." 

"Who  is  he?"  stammered  Maurits  in  embarrass- 
ment, "he  is  —  " 

"Ah,  my  lady!"  interrupted  the  old  man,  "I  am 
simply  a  plain  countryman  from  Switzerland,  and 
this  girl  is  my  daughter.  I  became  acquainted  with 
Maurits  Sterner,  who  chanced  to  visit  our  valley,  and 
have  accompanied  him  here  to  once  more  see  Sweden, 
which  is  the  land  of  my  nativity,  and  from  which  I 
have  been  absent  many  years.  You  now  know  all." 

"Further  than  this,"  he  added  smiling,  "I  have  no 
other  name  among  the  shepherds  of  our  valley  than 
Father  Klaus,  and  my  daughter's  name  is  Marita. 
We  are  at  present  Maurits'  guests,  but  we  are  to  re- 
turn soon  to  our  Alpine  home." 

At. this  instant,  a  faint  light  spread  over  the  room, 
coming. from  the  opposite  end  thereof.  All  eyes  were 
turned  in  that  direction,  where  hung  a  red  curtain 
from  behind  which  the  light  came. 

'What  is  this!  "  cried  Maurits  in  surprise. 

"Wait,  you  will  soon  see." 

Some  minutes  of  silence  followed. 

Suddenly  the  curtain  was  drawn  aside.  As  beauti- 
ful as  in  former  days,  Isabella  Ehrenstam  was  revealed 
in  the  same  white  dress  in  which  Maurits  saw  her 
last.  Even  the  garland  of  roses  decked  her  dark 
tresses  as  then.  She  was  kneeling  in  a  glory  of 
light,  her  arms  outstretched  toward  Maurits,  who  was 
standing  powerless  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

"Eternal  God!"  exclaimed  he  at  last,  rushing  for- 
ward. "Is  it  a  dream,  or  is  it  a  scene  from  the  land 
of  angels!  Isabella!" 


She  was  kneeling  in  a  glory  of  light.— p.  736. 


CONCLUSION  7^_ 

"Maurits!"  responded  the  young  woman  in  a  voice 
impossible  to  describe. 

"It  is  you!  You  live!  You  are  not  dead?"  cried 
he.  clasping  her  in  his  arms.  "My  bride,  my  long- 
mourned  bride!" 

"You  will  not  cast  me  off,  Maurits?  It  is  not  Isa- 
bella Ehrenstam  whom  you  are  pressing  to  your  breast. 
for  she  is  dead.  The  grave  has  washed  out  the  stain 
that  fate  inflicted  upon  her.  Is  it  not  so,  Maurits?' 
The  young  man,  overcome  by  his  feelings,  could 
not  answer.  Tears  of  joy  alone  gave  expression  to. 
his  thoughts. 

"What  is  this,  Maurits?"  said  the  old  count,  ap- 
proaching. "Is  this  the  bride  of  your  youth,  the  lost, 
the  mourned  one?  She  is  not  dead,  then?" 

"Ah!"  cried  Marita,  "you  will  grieve  no  more,  Mau- 
rits. You  see  that  God  is  good." 

"Yes,"  returned  Maurits  solemnly,  pressing  Isabella 
to  his  breast,  "yes,  God  is  good.  The  play  of  fate  is 
strange,  but  providence  governs  all  for  the  best." 

We  could  here  lay  down  our  pen  and  allow  the 
reader  to  imagine  the  end.  We  deem  it  our  duty, 
however,  to  say  a  few  words  concerning  some  of  the 
characters  that  have,  from  time  to  time,  appeared  in 
our  narrative. 

Baroness  Ehrenstam's  weak  nerves  received  a  severe 
shock  at  the  reappearance  of  Isabella  whom  she  had 
long  supposed  dead,  but  when  she  had  somewhat  re 
gained  her  composure,  she  was  quite  well  satisfied 
with  the  turn  things  had  taken,  for  she  hoped  to  find 
with  Maurits  and  Isabella  a  pleasanter  home  than  with 
George,  who  had  quite  recently  married  a  wealthy 
member  of  the  aristocracy  of  Ostergothland. 

The  baroness  gave  her  consent  readily,   therefore,  to 


738  THE    PLAY    OF    FATE 

Isabella's  union  with  Maurits.  Naturally,  she  was 
very  much  grieved  that  he  would  not  take  the  title 
of  count,  but  consoled  herself  with  the  thought  that 
her  daughter  could  assume  the  title  of  baroness  by 
right  of  birth.  In  this,  however,  she  was  sorely  dis- 
appointed, formatter  her  marriage,  Isabella  would  not 
listen  to  any  other  title  than  Mrs.  Sterner. 

Count  Stjernekrantz,  with  his  daughter,  returned  in 
the  spring  to  his  valley  home  in  Switzerland.  Mau- 
rits and  Isabella  accompanied  them,  remaining  their 
guests  a  few  months,  and  thereafter  visited  them 
every  summer  as  had  been  agreed.  During  one  of 
these  summer  visits,  Maurits  was  present  to  close  his 
father's  eyes. 

The  old  count  was  borne  to  his  grave  by  the  weep- 
ing herders  of  the  little  village,  to  whom  he  had  been 
as  a  father. 

Marita  returned  to  Sweden  with  her  brother  and  his 
wife,  where  she  took  up  her  residence  at  Odensvik 
as  Isabella's  companion. 

Pastor  Bergholm  secured  the  pastorate,  and  the 
year  following  was  made  a  priest.  His  good  wife, 
Brita,  was  very  fond  of  being  addressed  by  her  title, 
and  it  is  asserted  that  she  was  never  again  heard  to 
grumble. 

Oscar,  who  had  married  advantageously  in  Gothen- 
burg, and  who  had  also  been  very  successful  in  his 
business,  visits  his  parents  every  summer,  when  he 
is  always  an  honored  guest  at  Odensvik. 

Helena,  the  actress,  has  long  ago  quit  the  stage  and 
settled  in  a  little  village  in  Wermland,  employing  her 
time  mainly  with  devotions,  the  image  of  the  repent- 
ant Mary  Magdalene.  Maurits  and  Isabella  visit  her 
often,  and  she  showers  blessing  upon  the  former,  to 


CONCLUSION  739 

whom  she  attributes  the  happy  change  from  what  she 
was  to  what  she  now  is. 

Priest  Washolm  has  recently  died  of  apoplexy, 
having  become  unseemly  fleshy  of  late  years,  while 
his  learned  wife  has  become  even  more  lean. 

And  Jacob  Kron?  He  has  long  ago  crumbled  to 
dust  in  the  tomb  of  his  illustrious  ancestors.  By  the 
side  of  his  coffin,  which  has  never  been  examined, 
stands  another  now — his  father's.  Thus  ends  the 
story  of  the  play  of  fate. 


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